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THE SELF-MADE MAN. 















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ALLEI LUCAS; 

THE 

SELF-MADE MAN. 

% 

BY THE AUTHOR OF “CHARLES LTNN,” “LIFE 
AS IT IS,” &C. 



BENNETT, BACKUS, & HAWLEY. 


1844 







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Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1843, by 
.,* v BENNETT, BACKUS, & HAWLEY, 

In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States 
for the Northern District of New York. 


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CONTENTS. 


CHAP. PAGE. 

I. The Corners 9 

II. The New Teacher 18 

III. The Eagle Aroused 31 

IV. Beginning Anew 43 

V. Mr. Dawson’s Pupils 52 

VI. Mr. Dawson’s Last Story 60 

VII. Summer Study, and the next Winter School 72 

VIII. More of Liph Green 87 

IX. Choosing a Vocation 100 

X. Lizzy Parker and her friend Nannie . . 120 

XI. The Select School 131 

XII. Commonplace Incidents .... 143 

XIII. Disappointments the portion of All . . . 152 

XV. A Scene at the Capital 169 ^ 



















































































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ALLEN LUCAS. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE CORNERS. 

About two miles from the little village of 
Smithville, in one of our western counties, the 
turnpike is crossed by a road not much trav- 
eled, but of sufficient importance to give that 
district the name of the Corners. Upon two 
of the four comers, fine farm-houses are situ- 
ated, and far beyond, stretch fields of waving 
grain and meadows of tall, rich grass, or the 
still richer clover, the perfume of which can 
not be surpassed by the rarest green-house 
exotic. 

The turnpike leads along to other farm- 
houses of rather humbler pretensions than 
those on the Corners, and now and then scat- 
tered among them, are little, low buildings, 

A 


10 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


seemingly of dimensions too contracted to 
accommodate more than one individual, .but 
literally swarming with the white-headed, 
bare-footed inhabitants, all unconscious of 
needing room. As we proceed onward, we 
shall find the turnpike traversed by a little 
stream, over which is thrown a log bridge, 
for the superabundance of timber furnished 
by the hills beyond, bristling with evergreens, 
interspersed with other trees bending grace- 
fully beneath their wealth of summer foliage, 
makes the people cling to the extravagant 
economy of their fathers, and save the trouble 
of sawing, at the expense of the valuable ma- 
terial. Here we shall find the impression 
made by bare feet upon the sand, on each 
side of the creek, and very likely we may see 
a half-dozen boys, their linen trowsers rolled 
up to the knee, wading about in the clear water, 
quite as happy as the sleeping cow, standing 
so quietly in the stream below, that you very 
seldom can catch a tinkle of the bell hung to 
her neck. Farther down the stream, grow 
'the ash, and elm, with some birch trees almost 
stripped of the bark by the fore-mentioned 
knights of the linen trowsers, and a few tall 


THK CORNERS. 


11 


maples on each side lean towards each other, 
almost interlacing their branches, and casting 
an ever-quivering shadow uporf the waters 
below, which here grow broader and deeper, 
and move quietly and lingeringly, as if in love 
with the cool breezes wakened by the fanning 
of the foliage. Nestled down in one corner 
of a wood a few rods from this creek, is the 
district school-house, with its large uncurtain- 
ed windows, and one small door opening 
under a wood-house, which in winter receives 
the drifting snow, and in summer cradles 
many a troublesome insect. This school- 
house has been built for a great many years, 
and is not so comfortable as some of more 
modern date, but it has nevertheless been the 
nursery of talent and usefulness, as well as 
the scene of many an idle freak of childish 
fancy, or the still more idle plans and specu- 
lations of the book-hater. 

Upon that seat, far in the comer, once 
sat Allen Lucas, and I believe those very 
notches in the desk were made by his knife, 
as he lolled upon his seat and wondered over 
and over again if noon would ever come. 
Allen Lucas was not the son of a poor widow, 
a2 


12 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


who “ had once seen better days ,” nor had he 
any of the other claims upon our sympathy ad- 
vanced by most heroes of story ; he was only 
the third son of Reuben Lucas, a plain, honest, 
simple farmer, who, by being always watch- 
ful and industrious, contrived at the end of the 
year to balance accounts, without saving a 
penny. It made no difference with Mr. Lu- 
cas whether his crops were plentiful or oth- 
erwise, whether ill luck or good attended him 
in his family; increased expenditures never 
made him poorer, nor an increased income 
richer. In truth, Mr. Lucas was “ an easy, 
well-to-do man,” who cared only to be free 
from debt, with plenty to eat and drink, and 
his expenses were entirely regulated by his 
income without a thought of the “ rainy day” 
ahead. His wife managed a small dairy, and 
sold butter and cheese enough to keep her- 
self and daughters in fineries, but this was so 
exclusively pin-money, that it was never de- 
voted to anything but fineries. In short, Mr. 
Lucas was only a farmer in a very small 
way, and not considered a rich man even in 
his own little neighborhood, but his family., t 





THE CORNERS. 


13 


tomed to deny themselves anything which 
happened to fall within the circle of their 
humble desires. 

Allen Lucas had few peculiarities, and al- 
though he was usually considered a “ bright 
boy,” evinced no superiority to the rest of the 
family. He was somewhat taller and stouter 
than boys of twelve generally are, with broad 
shoulders and muscular limbs, and on this he 
prided himself not a little : then, he could wield 
the ball-club, skate, run, leap, and wrestle as 
well as any of his companions, and though not 
always at the head of his class, he was very 
seldom, if ever, at the foot. He had studied 
arithmetic for three years, but never got be- 
yond reduction, his success in geography was 
more creditable to his talent, but grammar 
was • his detestation, and never would have 
been attempted, but for the pleasure of at- 
tending the evening grammar school. Allen 
was generally very well liked by his teachers 
and companions, for he carried a cheerful, 
good-humored countenance, and was not 
what is generally considered a rebellious or 
very lazy scholar. True, his sister Mary, 
though two years his junior, often excelled him, 
a3 


14 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


but Mary had always been considered a very 
bright little girl, and it was no unusual thing 
for the oldest members of the school to yield 
to her. In spelling contests, Mary Lucas 
was generally the victor, and she was as fa- 
miliar with every line of her well-thumbed 
geography, as with the simple furniture of 
her mother’s kitchen. Everybody expected 
great things of Mary, but they did not expect 
them of her brother Allen, and so he passed 
on, envied by many a dull boy who was obli- 
ged to labor for the little he learned, often com- 
mended for the good lessons which had cost 
him scarce fifteen minutes’ study, and very 
seldom censured. Allen never dreamed of 
anything more than getting decently through 
with the forms of the day, the final object to 
be gained never once entered his mind, and 
though his teachers often talked of the advan- 
tages of education, and the importance of 
mental culture, this was all like Greek to him, 
and he considered it the most favorable time 
for planning some piece of amusement to be 
broached to his comrades after school. Such 
was Allen Lucas at the age of twelve, and 
such he seemed likely to be for years to come. 


THE CORNERS. 


15 


a harmless, not particularly dull, but very 
common-place character. Of what he was 
capable no one knew, himself least of all, for 
he had never imagined himself under any 
obligation to exert his powers only when and 
where he liked. Allen had never been told 
that his superior quickness, instead of furnish- 
ing him with an excuse for indolence, only . 
rendered an indulgence in it more criminal, 
and he would have thought it the height of 
injustice to require more of him than of others. 

The school at the Corners had generally 
been furnished with teachers, if not of the first 
order, who at least enjoyed some reputation, 
but they had been contented to pursue the 
usual routine, measuring their duty by what 
was expected of them, rather than by what 
it was in their power to perform. The teach- 
er, who merely fulfills his contract, may not 
suffer the upbraidings of conscience for not 
doing more, and his salary is his reward. It 
is all he deserves. But O how much richer 
the reward of him who seeks a higher object, 
who’ labors to accomplish what none but a 
teacher can accomplish. When the man, 
who to-day stands with a group of listening 


16 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


boys around him, and marks the flushed 
cheek, the glistening eye and the swelling 
bosom, has grown old, when the warm blood 
which now animates his frame and makes his 
tongue eloquent has become sluggish, when 
his eye grows dim, his hand tremulous, and 
he feels that he must soon lie down and teach 
his last, great lesson, this will be far from 
being the least pleasing of the remembrances 
that cluster around the heart, to soothe him 
whose grave lies between him and his only 
future. Then, when he looks upon the glo- 
rious fruit, though the dew of the last life- 
breath were freezing upon his lip, and his 
heart were subsiding into its last stillness, a 
delicious thrill must needs be awakened by the 
thought, “the seed was of my own hand’s 
planting.” To look around upon a happy 
community, made happier by the influence 
of the virtuous and gifted who cement and 
make it strong ; to see the philanthropist em- 
ployed in disseminating noble principles, en- 
lightening heavy hearts, and elevating debas- 
ed spirits, and be able to look back upon 
the time when his intellect and heart re- 
ceived the first impulse and remember with 


THE CORNERS. 


17 


how much difficulty his nature was mould- 
ed ; even to mark the manly struggles of the 
victim of misfortune, the self-sustaining power 
which prevents his becoming a vagabond, and 
remember that but for days and days of un- 
wearied effort, that man would have been 
weak and helpless, is a priceless reward which 
but one class of the many devoted to doing 
good can claim. It is of more worth than 
all the yellow dust that ever glittered be- 
fore human eye, and exhaustlesS, because 
the sunshine, that it casts about the heart 
now, is only the shadow of the treasure which 
is laid up in heaven. Above all others, does 
the teacher need a clean heart and active 
hand, but if that heart be cold, or if but one 
finger of that hand prefer self-service, let its 
owner stand aside, for he is all unfitted for 
the holy work. 


CHAPTER II. 


THE NEW TEACHER. 

Allen Lucas was in his twelfth year when 
Mr. Thorn, who had taught the Corner school 
for several winters, and gained a little purse 
thereby, concluded that keeping a grocery at 
Smithville would be more profitable, and 
therefore a new teacher was engaged in his 
stead. Mr. Thorn was a great favorite, and 
so his successor was naturally enough re- 
garded with suspicion, and when he ventured 
to engraft a few improvements upon the old 
tread-mill system, he was met on every hand 
by the most strenuous opposition. Mr. Daw- 
son was a thorough scholar, and had been 
self-educated : thus he knew how much the 
human mind is capable of accomplishing by its 
own unassisted efforts, and he felt more anx- 
iety to arouse the dormant faculties of his pu- 
pils, than to urge them forward in their studies. 
He wished to fit them for action, at least suf- 


THE NEW TEACHER. 


19 


ficient for them to appreciate in some degree 
the labor before them, lest the labor should 
be but ill-performed. The accomplishment 
of this purpose required such a thorough 
revolution, that many persons, among whom 
Mr. Lucas was not the least formidable, 
regarded him with a suspicious eye. If Mr. 
Dawson had been a selfish man, he would 
not have mortified the pride of Mary Lucas 
by making her conscious that all her attain- 
ments were mere parrotry, nor would he have 
incurred the hatred of John Smith, whose 
father owned the largest, if not the best impro- 
ved Corners farm, by putting him in a class 
more suited to his actual attainments than his 
years. Selfishness would have induced an 
opposite course, but Mr. Dawson felt an un- 
feigned interest in his work. Still Allen Lu- 
cas lolled upon his desk and cut notches with 
his knife, and watched the shadow in the 
window and wondefed if noon would ever 
come, but he did not slide along so easily as 
formerly, for his face qften burned beneath 
the glances of a reproving eye, and his les- 
sons failed to elicit one word of praise. After a 
few weeks Allen began to dislike Mr. Dawson 


20 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


and Mary was decided in pronouncing him a 
“poor teacher,” proving her position, by as- 
serting that she did not know half so much 
as when she attended Mr. Thorn’s school. 
Still Mr. Dawson went on as if unconscious 
Of the petty storm about his ears, and soon 
the suspicions of people were laid, and their 
prejudices wore away, for they found their 
children animated by a new- spirit, and were 
not long in discovering that a richer vein was 
perceptible in the young intellect than had 
before been touched. Mr. Dawson had gone 
below the mere mechanical, and had put in 
operation the reasoning faculties. He had 
taught his pupils to think, and they could not 
fail to remember. Among those least bene- 
fited by this state of things were Allen® and 
Mary Lucas, for while the former could skim 
over the surface and avoid absolute disgrace, 
he was contented, and Mary was too indig- 
nant at the thought of relinquishing the hon- 
ors she had worn so long, and too anxious to 
mask her deficiencies under a show of words, 
to set about actual improvement. Mary sup- 
posed words to be the actual substance, ra- 
ther than the vehicle for its exhibition ; the 


TUB NEW TEACHER. 


21 


mystery of meaning beneath was to her an 
idle tale, and she was positive that knowing 
anything “ by heart ” was quite sufficient for 
all reasonable purposes. Allen however did 
improve a little, at least in outward seeming, 
but it was only sufficient to escape the charge 
of dullness, and maintain his former standing 
in the school. 

Mr. Dawson was very fond of visiting the 
different families at the Corners, becoming ac- 
quainted with the ordinary occupations of the 
children, and mingling in their sports ; thus, 
his influence was everywhere felt, and he 
became familiar with the workings of their 
hearts. His own feelings were yet green 
within his bosom, and he did not affect that 
coldness and distance of manner, nor that in- 
difference to innocent amusements^ which 
often passes for dignity, and rears itself as the 
most formidable barrier to improvement of 
any kind. He who loves his fellow men will 
sympathize in that which interests them, 
however trivial, and sympathy is the right 
hand of the philanthropist. One day, after 
skating for half an hour upon the smooth 
surface of the mill-pond, far up the creek, 


22 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


and getting up a snow-balling party on the 
way back to the school-house, for the sake of 
giving the little fellows, who had been mere 
lookers-on, their share of sport, Mr. Dawson 
sat down by his desk, and, as usual on such oc- 
casions, his pupils, one by one, gathered around 
him, until not a loiterer remained without. 
Even Allen Lucas was in this group, for Mr. 
Dawson’s stories were more interesting to him 
than his books, and when he had become ani- 
mated by exercise, he always told his very best. 

“ I shall not tell you a story to day,” said 
the school-master, and as he spoke there was 
an expression of quiet humor, which his pu- 
pils had at first mistaken for ill-nature, or 
“ something bad,” they could hardly tell w T hat, 
lurking in his fine, black eyes, and playing 
about the corners of his mouth. 

“ No story ! ” “ no story ! ” repeated the 
younger scholars, in tones of disappointment, 
until the outer one being far enough off to 
venture on such a remark, whispered, “ I 
think it’s too bad.” By what process of rea- 
soning it was decided to be too bad that Mr. 
Dawson should withhold a gratification he 
was by no means bound to grant, I can not 


THE NEW TEACHER. 


23 


say, so I will leave the matter to those school- 
boys who from imagining that they can not 
do too little, come to the very natural conclu- 
sion that their teachers can not do too much, 
and never dream of being grateful for the most 
self-sacrificing favors. The older scholars 
however knew Mr. Dawson too well to be- 
lieve that he would disappoint them, so they 
winked knowingly at each other, and remain- 
ed silent. 

“ I will give you a fable,” resumed Mr. 
Dawson, “ which, although it may not be so 
interesting as our Indian story, may afford 
some amusement.” 

“ A fable ! why, that is a story, Mr. Daw- 
son.” 

“ Right, Liph, — now can you tell me how it 
differs from the^stories I have told you before?” 

“ Why, fables are big stories .” 

“ They are wrong stories ,” said little Abby 
Stillman. 

“ They axe fish stories ,” added Liph. 

“No, animal stories ,” said Julia May, “for 
iEsop’s fables are all about wolves and lambs,^^ 
and foxes, and other animals. Fables af&- 
stories that are not true.” 


24 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


* Are all stories that are not true, fables V* 
inquired Mr. Dawson. 

“ No, sir, not the kind of fable that you 
mean,” said Allen Lucas. 

“ All stories that are not true, of course may 
in one sense be considered fables,” said a soft 
voice in low, measured tones, “ but a true fa- 
ble always conveys a hidden moral.” 

Mr. Dawson smiled on the speaker, one of 
the boys whispered, “ Robert May thinks he 
knows everything,” and the circle drew closer 
together, and stood and sat in the attitude of 
listeners. “ I must forewarn you,” said Mr. 
Dawson, “to look out for the moral, for I 
shall leave the application to you.” The boys 
looked at each other as though a very, little 
alarmed, for Mr. Dawson had his own way of 
pointing out faults, and pot an individual who 
was conscious of doing wrong, felt for a mo- 
ment safe. Nor did his smiling lip reassure 
them, for unless the fault were of that class 
which requires a solemn and pointed rebuke, 
he always wore that same expression, as if 
utterly unconscious that some poor offender 
was wincing beneath his seeming playful 
touches, and choking id the vain attempt to 


THE NEW TEACHER. 


25 


swallow his own blushes. Mr. Dawson how- 
ever did not seem to observe the looks of his 
auditors, but proceeded with his fable. 

“Down by a river’s side, a careful goose 
had made her nest among the sedges and ferns, 
and there, one sunny day in spring, she left 
her helpless family in their bright yellow liv- 
ery, and went away in search of food. On 
her return she found a stranger nestled among 
her little ones, which were all stretching out 
their long necks towards him, and joining their 
shrill voices in a concert of sounds that noth- 
ing not belonging to the goose family ever 
conjured up. As soon as the mother goose 
had an opportunity for making observations, 
she found this stranger had wings and a head 
and feet not altogether unlike her own off- 
spring, and was olothed in a natural coat of 
feathers, which proved him beyond the shadow 
of a doubt, to belong to the extensive race of 
birds. To be sure his feathers were of an 
ugly gray, his beak was hooked suspiciously, 
instead of extending forward flat and honest, 
like the bills of her own little ones, and his 
toes were divided and furnished with long 
claws, instead of being connected by that 


26 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


beautiful, fan-like web, which would enable 
him to paddle across the water, like a living 
fairy-boat. Mrs. Goose did not at all like her 
visitor, and she at once extended her curved 
neck in a very snake-like manner, and hissed 
altogether too powerfully for a snake, but 
just as she was on the point of proceeding to 
extremities, she discovered that the poor 
stranger, which was yet a nestling, had met 
with some misfortune by which he had been 
badly bruised, and in consequence was utterly 
unable to move. Now the goose, notwith- 
standing her noisy, bustling way, is really a 
benevolent bird, and so she took the stranger 
under her own wing, and fed him with her 
own food, and made him so comfortable that 
he felt quite at home in the family. 

“ The gray eaglet, when the eyry was bro-‘ 
ken up in which he had been lodged, was too 
young to remember anything about it, and not 
being at all aware that his destination was the 
sky, he wandered around among the green 
sedges, and through the tall meadow grass, 
with his companions, trying his wing only 
when he came to the clear stream on which 
they floated, and then he would hover about 


THE NEW TEACHER. 


27 


them, until they stepped upon the sand, and 
were ready for another excursion. True, 
when the fern was unusually tangled, and his 
pathway became laborious, he would show 
the admiring and curious goslings how much 
more easily he could accomplish a short jour- 
ney than they, but otherwise he seemed to be 
perfectly contented by equaling them. The 
young eagle did not know what it was to fly 
away in the pure, blue sky, as free as the cloud 
that floated above his head, and there was 
nothing to induce him to make the attempt, 
so in time his nature became tame, and he 
loved to crouch in the barn-yard, and listen 
to the clamors of silly geese, and, although 
conscious of being less earthly than they, he 
had too long been accustomed to groveling 
things, to feel that his natural superiority only 
rendered his position the more degrading. 
One day, after the eagle had attained his 
growth, and become very goose-like in his 
nature, as he was digging in the mud for 
worms, he was startled by the whiz of a wing 
above his head, and, on looking up, he discov- 
ered a bird above him, so like himself, that he 
was obliged to look back upon the ground to 


28 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


become assured, that it was not the reflection 
of his own form, as he had often seen it on the 
water. Again he looked at the bird, which 
wheeled and circled above him for a moment, 
and then, as if disdaining such a near ap- 
proach to earth, spread out his wings and 
mounted upward — up, up, clear away — 
plunging into the liquid ether, until he became 
a mere speck upon the blazing sun. Again 
he came a little nearer earth, waved his wing 
in wild triumph, and went careering through 
the air, now lost behind a dark cloud that was 
just hovering on the verge of the horizon, and 
now far away in an opposite direction, bask- 
ing in the burning sun-beam, and seemingly 
tossing the drifted clouds like snow-wreaths 
on his wings. The eye of the poor eagle 
kindled at the sight, and he felt every feather 
bristle, and every muscle stretch itself to its 
utmost tension, as he watched the gyrations 
of the noble bird, and when at last he saw 
him hovering over a wild, craggy height, and 
then plunging into its bosom, as though its 
darkest recesses were all familiar, he started, 
like a man awakened from a long, night-mare 
dream. With a scream of joy he expanded 


THE NEW TEACHER. 29 

his wings and rose upward for a little, but as 
a puff of wind came past him, he veered from 
his course, and was nigh losing his self-com- 
mand ; making a strong effort, however, he 
preserved his balance, fluttered his wings 
again, struggled with another current of air, 
then sank back to earth exhausted, and hid 
his head under his useless wing. Poor bird ! 
he had been content to fold his pinion, because 
his associates did not fly, and now it was too 
weak to bear him up, and though his eagle 
nature was so awakened that he loathed the 
earth, and longed to track out his way among 
the clouds, he knew that he was doomed to 
crawl about like a creeping reptile.” 

“ I should think that he might have learned 
to fly yet,” interrupted one of the listeners. 

“ Perhaps he might,” said Mr. Dawson ; 
“ being a young bird, very likely he might.” 

“ But an eagle couldrit be so kept down,” 
said another ; “ you could’nt tame an eagle and 
make such a goose of him.” 

“ Is man then inferior to a bird ? ” said Mr. 
Dawson, with one of his peculiar smiles, “ that 
his high spirit can be kept down, his aspira- 
b2 


30 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


tions tamed, his whole nature degraded, and 
he made the slave of circumstances ? ” 

The boys too, smiled, and glances of intel- 
ligence were exchanged among them, but as 
Mr. Dawson said no more, they dropped 
away to their seats, one by one, and soon the 
ringing of the bell announced the arrival of 
the school-hour. 


CHAPTER III. 


THE EAGLE AROUSED. 

Before the bell had ceased ringing, Allen 
Lucas was at his usual seat in the comer, but 
his books were untouched, and he sat, tracing 
one after another parallel lines on his slate, 
as though his life had depended on bringing 
the art to perfection. Slowly the lines were 
drawn, and if they curved or crooked in the 
least degree, as slowly obliterated, while one 
class, and then another, and another went 
through with their usual exercises, and sat 
down to their respective duties. The hour 
for the afternoon recess came, and still Allen 
Lucas was working away as industriously as 
ever. The noise made by his companions as 
they went out partially aroused him, and he 
allowed the pencil to slide from his fingers, 
and then his head drooped, and he sat in a 
posture of deep musing until they returned. 
b3 


32 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


“You are getting quite too goose-like, 1 * 
whispered a lively little fellow, making a very 
unsuccessful effort to stumble over his feet, 
which were by no means in the way. Al- 
len’s face colored, but no smile came to an- 
swer the quizzical grin of the boy, and he 
again had recourse to the slate. The next 
moment Mr. Dawson passed. 

“ I have no lesson, sir,” said Allen, without 
waiting to be questioned, and as if determin- 
ed to cut short the business of conversation 
as much as possible. Mr. Dawson smiled, and 
leaning over the desk so as not to be heard, 
remarked cheerfully, “ You at least are not too 
old to learn to fly.” Again the red blood 
mounted to Allen’s temples, and he leaned his 
head forward until it rested on the desk, 
while his thoughts came tumbling on, one 
after another, disconnected, and almost unin- 
telligible even to himself. “ I could learn, yes 
I know I could — a school-master — no, I hate 
school-masters — doctor — pah ! Lawyers are 
all alike — all a pack of rascals, so I’ve heard 
uncle Pete say — no, no I wouldn’t be a law- 
yer, and as for standing behind a counter all 
day as poor Jack Dean has to, and grow pale 


THE EAGLE AROUSED. 


33 


and hump-backed — dear me ! I should tear 
those flimsy things all to pieces. Then what’s 
the use? — farmers don’t want learning. A 
farm like ’Squire Smith’s, level as the floor, 
and not a stone nor a bush — but ’Squire 
Smith isn’t anybody — great, cross — John ’ll 
get the farm, but I wouldn’t be John Smith, 
that I wouldn’t — just like one of our oxen. 
I’ll go out west, I’ll clear the land — I’ll — I’ll — 
yes, just like the oxen ; trudge, trudge, all day 
long, thinking of nothing but work, work — 
then supper and bed — provender and stable — 
eat, drink and sleep, that’s all — I don’t care 
about being an ox. But what’s the use of 
learning ? I wonder what wise people think 
about — I can learn, and if I can I ought to, 
may be — at any rate Mr. Dawson thinks so, 
but I don’t care for that. I can — yes, I can , 
and why should’nt I ? I can beat all the boys 
at ball, and I should be a fool to throw like a 
girl — yes, I’ll show them what I can do, I’ll 
go at it like Robert May — to think of Bob 
May’s beating me, and he never skated a rod 
in his life ! I’ll show them ! ” and Allen threw 
back his head, and hfs eye sparkled, and 
his cheek glowed with a new and strange 


34 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


excitement, but how long he might have 
gloried in his untried powers can never 
be known, for just then a reading-class was 
called, and he was obliged to join in the 
exercise. Never did Allen Lucas make such 
blunders in reading before, never did the boys 
laugh so heartily at mistakes, for they sound- 
ed doubly grotesque from such a source, and 
never were Mr. Dawson’s black eyes so very 
brightly black, and the curl at the corners of 
his mouth such a very decided curl ; but above 
all, never, not even when telling his best sto- 
ries, was his voice more entirely free from 
the severity of the school-master than on this 
occasion. That day the reading lesson was 
somehow very short, and the class dismissed 
much sooner than usual, and it so happened 
that Allen Lucas had all the afternoon to 
make marks on his slate if he had chosen that 
very simple mode of spending time. But he 
did not choose it, neither did he sit down to 
ruminate to little or no purpose, but, picking 
up his arithmetic, he turned to the very dry, 
comprehensive, and I shall have all school- 
boys on my side of the question when I say 
incomprehensible rule, heading the examples 


THE EAGLE AROUSED. 


35 


for practice in reduction, and endeavored to 
fix his attention upon it. Now everybody ac- 
quainted with the book in question, the only 
system of arithmetic used in common schools 
some dozen or twenty years ago, kno^s that 
these rules, so far from explaining the minci- 
ples of the science, seem placed there fimthe 
express purpose of being explained by mem, 
and after the young student had managed by 
his teacher’s aid, to get through with the exam- 
ples for practice, if he could discover any con- 
nection between these and the rule, or could 
discover that the latter had the least bearing 
on the former, the credit was undoubtedly to 
be ‘given to his organ of association. As for 
Allen Lucas, he had never got so far as that, 
though he had probably rattled off the words of 
the rule as fast as his very brisk tongue could 
move, more than a hundred times. But why 
reduction ascending and reduction descending 
required different processes, was a question 
he would have considered utterly preposter- 
ous, for, had’nt he tried the sums ? and did’nt 
division bring the answer when multiplication 
wouldn’t ? To be sure, his father, who had 
neveij studied arithmetic, and knew nothing 


36 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


of figures but what he had picked up in the 
transaction of his very circumscribed busi- 
ness, often puzzled him with hard questions, 
but he considered that there was a difference 
between book-knowledge, and the knowledge 
gained by trading off beef and corn, and con- 
cluded that notwithstanding these puzzlers, 
he must know a great deal more than his fa- 
ther. As for the rules before-mentioned, his 
teachers had always told him they were of 
no particular practical importance, which he 
interpreted/ of no use except to show how far 
he had studied, and he was sure that as soon 
as he “ could do all the sums,” even if he was 
obliged to look into his older brother’s copy- 
book for assistance, he should be a perfect 
arithmetician. 

Mr. Dawson felt the disadvantage at which 
he labored for the want of simpler text-books, 
but he had long ago learned how “ to make 
do,” and he succeeded in making these do 
more than some men have been able to ac- 
complish with the help of our very excellent 
improvements. Discovering it to be impos- 
sible, in the state in which he found his school, 
to form a class of arithmeticians, and give his 


THE EAGLE AROUSED. 


37 


nexplanations verbally, he devoted his even- 
ings to committing them to paper, and each 
pupil was furnished with a copy at the time 
<of entering upon a new rule. This simple 
.plan saved much time, 'which must otherwise 
have been devoted to repetitions as innumer- 
able as tiresome ; but it was not allowed to 
take the place of those verbal instructions, 
which add weight to the best written rules. 
Allen Lucas, whose partiality for reduction 
seemed to be directly in the way of his 
advancement, had one of these copies in his 
pocket, but, though it was written in a round, 
fair hand, that nobody but a school-master 
j • could write, he had failed to decipher it, and 
had expended on • excuse-making twice the 
amount of ingenuity ariti labor, that, other- 
wise directed, would have sufficed to make 
him acquainted with a whole system of arith- 
metic. In truth, Allen had somehow gained 
an unaccountable dislike for this little scrap 
of paper, and so he sat puzzling his brain 
over the words that were intended more as 
a definition than explanation, until his brain 
fairly ached with the unusual effort. When 
at last night came and school was dismissed, 


38 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


Allen Lucas was among the first to find his 
way to the door, for he dreaded meeting Mr. 
Dawson, a fear, by the way, utterly ground- 
less, as he was never officious, and had as 
much consideration for the feelings of a boy 
as those of a man. He could not, however, 
withhold an encouraging smile, as Allen’s eye 
for a moment met his when he was passing 
out the door, and there was something so 
full of confidence and hope in the smile, and 
earnest, unselfish interest in the whole expres- 
sion of his face, that Allen’s fingers involun- 
tarily crept towards the pocket that contained 
the neglected paper. 

That evening, when Mr. Lucas’ family had 
all gathered around the blazing fire, Mr. 
Dawson’s explanation was introduced by 
Allen, as if accidentally, and duly canvassed. 
Allen read and re-read it, and John and Wil- 
liam and Mary all talked it over and found it 
so simple and yet so important, so “just the 
thing,” as they said, that they wondered 
they had never thought of these things of 
their own accord. At last the old farmer 
joined the group, who, slate and pencil in 
hand, were rejoicing in their newly acquired 


THE EAGLE AROUSED. 


39 


knowledge, and declaring that now they 
could “ see some sense in it.” The old man 
stood for a few minutes, looking over their 
shoulders, then taking the paper contain- 
ing Mr. Dawson’s explanations between hiS| 
thumb and finger, he adjusted his spectacles 
with the other hand, and peered at it very 
intently, his lips moving slowly all the while, 
as if he were weighing the quantity of the 
words, as well as scanning their meaning. 
At last he seemed satisfied, for laying down 
the paper, he resumed his seat, took a heavy 
draught of cider, lighted his pipe, shook his 
head two or three times, as if to assure him- 
self of its safety, and was ever after heard to 
declare that Mr. Dawson was “ a wonderful 
man — very wonderful, smart enough to make 
an arithmetic.” “I should think,” said John 
Lucas, as he hung his slate against the wall, 
“ that Mr. Dawson was a good teacher.” 

“ Yes, he must be,” said William. 

“ A very good teacher,” chimed in Sophia, 
a married daughter of Mr. Lucas, who was 
home on a visit, . and had been entertaining 
her parents all day with the atrocities of the 
school-master at “ White’s Mills.” 


40 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


“ Ay, ay ! ” said the father, “ a wonderful 
man — very wonderful man — could make a 
’rithmetic — I know he could.” Allen said 
nothing, and the two little boys had gone to 
bed, so their testimony was lost, and Mary 
seemed not to hear the remarks, for it is 
never pleasant to be in the minority, and she 
felt that the array against her, backed by the 
w r onderful paper, was rather too powerful to 
be fairly opposed by her single opinion. 

“ Don’t you think he is almost as good as 
Mr. Thom, Allen ? ” inquired George. 

“ Yes ; ten times better.” 

“ Why ! ” and “ what ! ” and “ dear me Al- 
len ! ” and “ the boy is crazy ! ” were among 
the exclamations that followed this very de- 
cided opinion, for Mr. Thorn had been con- 
sidered the teacher par excellence at the 
Corners, and others were called good or bad, 
as they were like or unlike him. 

“ Yes,” repeated Allen in a low, thoughtful 
tone, as if replying to some opposing feeling 
within, rather than these exclamations, “ yes, 
I am sure he’s a good teacher, and a good 
man.” 


THE EAGLE AROUSED. 


41 


“ He may be good enough,” said Mary, 
nodding her head and shrugging her shoul- 
ders, “ but one thing I know, I havn’t learned 
anything this winter.” 

“Not to-night? ” 

“ O that is nothing, just what is on that lit- 
tle bit of paper ; Mr. Thorn could have told 
it all in three minutes.” 

“ But Mr. Thorn never did tell it, Mary.” 

“ Well, he knew it, I know he did — at any 
rate he was a good teacher, everybody liked 
him.” 

“I suppose he was, but then you know 
what made us like him so much better than 
we do Mr. Dawson. Mr. Thom didn’t like 
the trouble of looking into things, and he 
made the best of everything we did. You 
know what uncle Pete said about his winking 
faculty — he winked at pretty hard doings 
sometimes ; he always praised us too, wheth- 
er we deserved it or not, but Mr. Dawson 
don’t make his praises so cheap.” 

“ No, he never praises those that deserve 
it, but the real blunderheads, he coaxes up to 
think they know everything. Yesterday I 


42 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


never missed a word all day, and he looked 
as cross at me — ” 

“ Mr. Dawson never looks cross, Mary.” 

“ Well, he didn’t look very good-natured, 
I can tell you. But when Julia May — 
everybody knows Julia’s a poor scholar — 
when she got up next me, he seemed as glad 
as though something wonderful had happen- 
ed, and praised her to the sky.” 

“ And for a very good reason ; he knew 
Julia studied and you did’nt.” 

“All the better, I should think, to know 
how to spell every word without studying.” 

“All the easier for you, of course, but I 
don’t see as you deserve any praise for it. I 
believe Mr. Dawson is half right in his no- 
tions about that, and I mean to study one 
week as hard as John Smith, just to see what 
I can do.” 

“John Smith has to study hard, or he 
would’nt learn anything.” 

“ I know that, but it will be just as easy 
for me to study as for him, and if I learn 
more I shall get better paid for it.” 


CHAPTER IV. 


BEGINNING ANEW. 

Allen Lucas had not been accustomed to 
making resolutions and breaking them, until 
like many young persons, he considered it 
the merest trifle, so he did not fail to put in 
execution his hastily formed purpose. If we 
should set about examining Allen’s motive in 
forming this purpose, we might find it diffi- 
cult to fix upon one of sufficient importance, 
but we must remember that “trifles light 
as air” decide the destinies of millions. It 
was not the love of knowledge, nor the de- 
sire to be useful, nor was it altogether the 
wish to excel, that influenced him. He had 
always suspected that he was cfuite as well 
endowed by nature as other boys, but now 
the consciousness of possessing faculties that 
had never been but slightly exercised, came 
over him like a gleam of sunlight, and the 
mere desire to employ those faculties, the 


44 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


love of action, which had hitherto exhausted 
itself in a display of physical strength, indu- 
ced him to make a mental effort. As he 
expressed it to Mary, he studied “just to see 
what he could do.” The bird finds pleasure 
in the mere act of flying, independent of any 
advantage to be gained by it, the boy in the 
thousand feats of agility that he performs 
even when alone, the man delights to curb 
the steed, and when not withheld by a moni- 
tor within to brandish the steel, and the stu- 
dent exults in the free use of his noble facul- 
ties, even when the end to be attained is not 
in view. The love of using our powers is 
almost inseparable from the possession of 
them, and this is a kind provision, making 
every effort its own immediate reward, and 
reserving the greater reward for moments of 
calm thought, when we are more capable of 
appreciating it. 

Allen Lucas turned the leaves of his arith- 
metic over, again and again, and fluttered 
them between his fingers, and made a great 
many more parallel lines on his slate, before 
he could conclude to go back and commence 
with Simple Addition, and then he sat a long 


BEGINNING ANEW. 


45 


time over the rule, which he could repeat 
word for word, dreading to ask Mr. Dawson 
for his explanation. Finally he read it over, 
slowly and carefully, pausing between the 
words to weigh well their meaning, and as 
he proceeded, a smile stole to his lip, and a 
look of intelligence shone from his eye, for 
he saw nothing there beyond his own com- 
prehension. All this time Mr. Dawson had 
been watching his motions, but he would not 
appear to do so, for he knew that there was 
no surer way of effacing a good impression, 
than by showing an officious triumph, or 
even in some cases, gratification. Very 
humble indeed must be the man, who can 
bear being told, particularly when the mind 
is in a course of revolution, “ I have succeed- 
ed in doing you the good I intended — to me 
you are indebted for these thoughts and feel- 
ings.” The boy is a man in miniature, with 
as much pride, as much sensitiveness, as 
much jealousy, and less judgment to balance 
these qualities, and therefore, is there the more 
danger in endeavoring to play upon the deli- 
cate chords of his mind, lest, by touching a 
wrong one, the whole should be deranged, 
c 


46 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


Some teachers, thinking self-love a reprehen- 
sible quality, never hesitate to mortify it ; but 
this is not a quality that can be crushed by 
being trampled upon ; it grows the ranker 
beneath the foot that would break it down, 
and loses its poison only when hedged in by 
virtuous feelings and principles. I would not 
pretend to vindicate all the petty feelings 
that find a resting place in the bosom of 
childhood, but he who does not respect them, 
despite their whimsicalities, and sympathize 
with them, even in their foolishness, never 
can gain the key to their hearts, to do them 
good. Even a child’s nature is a deep, deep 
study, and he, who but partially understands 
it, is liable to neglect the good, and to make 
sad blunders in curing the evil. A bad habit 
is not broken up by one lecture, or one whip- 
ping, or one hour of calm reasoning and kind 
expostulation. A diseased moral nature can 
not be cured by outward means, without 
corresponding action within. A fault is cur- 
ed, plucked up by the roots, when the child’s 
own hand undertakes its extermination, but 
the teacher, unassisted, only lops away the 
green, leaving it to spring up at some future 


BEGINNING ANEW. 


47 


day, stronger than ever. The best lesson a 
child can learn, is to examine his own heart, 
and rely upon his own power of self-control, 
assisted only by Him who furnishes that pow- 
^r. He who would prop up a character 
by other means than its own internal strength, 
only weakens it, and sad are the consequences, 
when these props are taken away. I would 
not dwell so long on this point, but for the 
fatal mistake committed, both by parents and 
teachers. Because children are capricious, 
impulsive, always arriving at wrong conclu- 
sions, and at the mercy of every one who 
chooses to play upon their tender feelings, 
they are often supposed to be utterly incapa- 
ble of self-government, and are forbidden to 
do one thing, and commanded to do another, 
because their elders know what will injure 
or benefit them, better than they do them- 
selves. The child is set down to the study 
of dead languages, and is expected to com- 
prehend, or at least to remember difficult sci- 
ences at a very early age, but when capable 
of this, moral teaching is made mere baby- 
talk, and no wonder that he turns disgusted 
from these lessons, loses his regard for truth 
c2 


48 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


and virtue, and is restrained only by the 
strong arm. It is the duty of parents and 
teachers, to make children know and feel their 
faults, to watch carefully, and discover if 
reformation is attempted, to encourage and 
sustain by delicate and cautious means, to 
show the beauty of moral greatness in its 
true light, and to point out the effects of the 
most trivial incident upon the character, but 
the child must be made to feel that the mighty 
work is his own, and fully worthy of his 
greatest exertions. 

Mr. Dawson had studied the construction 
of the human mind attentively, and he had 
not one set of rules for the man and another 
for the boy, for he knew that the same 
springs of action are in both. Yet he w T as 
far from bringing all down to the same 
standard, as if every mind was cast in the 
same mould, and differences were faults. 
When Allen Lucas asked hesitatingly, and 
with evident trepidation, if he might be al- 
lowed to review his studies before proceeding 
any farther, Mr. Dawson did not inquire 
why, nor raise objections “ for the sake of 
trying him,” nor congratulate him upon dis- 


BEGINNING ANEW. 


49 


covering his deficiencies, he merely gave his 
assent kindly, made a few remarks upon the 
necessity of being well grounded in the fun- 
damental principles of a science, offered his 
assistance whether in school or out, in ex- 
plaining difficulties, and parsed on. Yet 
Allen felt that his new resolutions were un- 
derstood and all his efforts appreciated, and 
from that moment there was the most perfect 
confidence established between the teacher 
and his pupil. But this could not have been, 
if Mr. Dawson had injudiciously interfered, 
for Allen knew that the struggle had been in 
his own bosom, the effort and triumph his 
own, and however much credit he was after- 
ward inclined to give his teacher, the least 
appearance of claiming it at this time would 
have alarmed his jealous self-love, and very 
likely induced him to show that he was not so 
tame and easily influenced as might be suppo- 
sed. That day Allen went through with his 
recitations admirably, surprising even himself 
by the wonders he performed : he asked ques- 
tions and expressed opinions, not always cor- 
rect, but yet worthy of correction, and exhibit- 
ed so much real interest in the subjects discus- 
c3 


50 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


sed, that Liph Green, the lively little fellow 
before mentioned, very demurely gave him to 
John Smith as an example of a passive verb 
changed into an active one. 

The week of trial passed away, and sever- 
al others followed it, and Allen Lucas began 
to discover that though learning was a very 
pleasant thing, nothing worth the possession 
could be gained without severe labor ; that 
none who would obtain the real ore is ex- 
empt from the drudgery of digging for it, 
and sometimes he would grow tired, and feel 
a strong temptation to relapse into his former 
idleness. Mr. Dawson knew that such mo- 
ments would come, and he watched carefully 
for them, but not believing in the modern 
mode of turning study into a mere amuse- 
ment, he did not always present something 
new, thus humoring the intellectual nature, as 
some parents do the caprices of a petted 
child. Sometimes he saw that a change of 
employment was necessary, to prevent actual * 
disgust, but he always took every occasion 
to deprecate this mode of treatment in gen- 
eral, and Allen soon learned the danger of 
yielding to feelings of weariness, as well as 


BEGINNING ANEW. 


51 


to other difficulties. As he proceeded rapid- 
ly and surely in his studies, it was plain to 
Mr. Dawson, and others who took the trouble 
to observe, that his whole character was un- 
dergoing a change, his perceptions were 
clearer, his notions more correct, and his 
principles firmer. Yet this natural result of 
the discipline to which he subjected himself, 
(it was not the mere love of action that led him 
to study now,) was only commenced, and 
Mr. Dawson often labored to show him, that 
this winter did not close his efforts, and that 
nothing less than a steady advance through 
life, ought to satisfy an immortal nature. 


CHAPTER V. 


ROBERT MAY, AND OTHERS OF MR. DAWSON^ 
PUPILS. 

Among the boys who attended school at 
the Corners, was a black-eyed, pale-faced 
stripling of about the age of Allen Lucas, but 
much smaller, and yet, from a certain sedate, 
thoughtful expression of countenance, appa- 
rently much older. Robert May was the 
only son of a farmer in rather humbler cir- 
cumstances than Mr. Lucas, but he was very 
far from being the only child; a fact well 
known to all the gallant beaux and envious 
belles in the neighborhood. His six sisters 
were all round, rosy-cheeked damsels, full of 
fun and frolic, and not particularly noted for 
talent, or in any way ambitious of deserving 
such notoriety. They were vain of their 
personal appearance, and the ready ingenuity, 
the talent for invention, the activity and reso- 
luteness which characterized them, "was di»- 


mr. dawson’s pupils. 


53 


sipated on vulgar or trivial pursuits. They 
had early imbibed a fondness for display, and 
they exhibited it in decorating the house, in 
their dress, and in all their actions, but it was 
a petty kind of vanity, and seldom spoiled the 
smile on their lips, or the good feeling in their 
hearts. To be sure, they pouted to display| 
their red, ripe lips, and frowned just a little, 
to intimate how their eyes might sparkle, if 
they should happen to get angry; but the 
cloud never lasted above five minutes, and 
they were really generous and obliging. As 
for taste and good sense, people did not look 
for them in the May’s, but they expected gay- 
ety and mirth, and were not disappointed. 
Robert had three sisters older than himself to 
pet him, and his parents, like parents in gen- 
eral, who have but one son, set them the ex- 
ample, meanwhile wondering why the little 
fellow should be so pale and puny. The sis- 
ters cared little for wintry winds or deep 
snows on their own account, but Robert was 
carefully guarded . against them, until he be- 
came old enough to be ashamed of his girlish- 
ness, and throw aside the cloak and muffler ; 
but even then he preserved a settled disrelish 


51 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


for active sports. Perhaps it was this pecu- 
liarity, combined with a desire to distinguish 
himself in some way among his companions, 
that led him to set a higher value on mental 
attainments, for he had always disputed with 
Mary Lucas the title of “ best scholar.” 
Robert May was considered a prodigy of 
learning by his parents and sisters, and they 
had talked so much to him about being “ a 
great man,” that he was early convinced his 
destiny was a high one. Quiet and studious, 
none dreamed of the ambitious feelings that 
lay beneath this modest demeanor, and Mr. 
Dawson, observing as he was, suspected them 
least of any, and took a peculiar interest in 
one who was himself so easily interested. 
Robert was by far the most promising of Mr. 
Dawson’s pupils ; for he not only studied, but 
seemed to understand and love his studies, 
and from the books, which his kind teacher 
lent him for perusal in the evening, he gained 
enlarged views of life, and much useful infor- 
mation. Yet he never became sufficiently 
interested to forget himself, and never, in mo- 
ments of his greatest enthusiasm, did he lose 
sight of that future elevation towards which 


mr. dawson’s pupils. 55 

he believed himself surely advancing. It was 
early decided by Mr. May, that Robert 
should be a scholar, and so he was allowed 
every advantage within their limited means 
and encouraged by praises, and the most 
flattering pictures of the proud future. Allen 
Lucas had always been rather fond of quiz- . 
zing Robert, for what he considered his mo- 
pishness, and on the other hand, the proud 
student regarded with something very like 
contempt the careless idler, who thought 
more of being able to ride an unbroken colt, 
than he would of being qualified to sit in the 
presidential chair. They had never quarrel- 
ed, but, the one shy, artful and selfish, the 
other bold, frank and generous, they were too 
utterly unlike in character, to be on terms of 
intimacy. Even after Allen had overcome 
his indolent habits, there were so many points 
of difference between them, that, but for Mr. 
Dawson’s interference, they would never 
have been friends. Mr. Dawson was a great 
promoter of social happiness, and he always 
endeavored to make his pupils feel how emp- 
t ty, cold and unsatisfying is that heartless en- 
joyment, which results from mere selfish 


5 G 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


gratification, unattended by kind acts and 
generous feelings. 

Mary Lucas had no right to the name of 
“ best scholar indeed, her memory was the 
only quality that brought her in competition 
with Robert, but this often gave her a tem- 
porary advantage, which was the basis of her 
reputation in school, and made her appear in 
his eyes something very like a rival. This 
winter, however, changed the face of things, 
Mary took a retrograde motion, and the 
whilom rivals were the best friends in the 
world, at least when a third party was ab- 
sent. Mary was much given to low conver- 
sations with the grave student in the corner 
opposite Allen’s, but she sometimes turned 
off very suddenly at the sound of a certain 
merry voice, for Liph Green (who would 
think of calling such a complete embodiment 
of mischief, Eliphalet ?) had got a new hand- 
sled, and a “ brand-new” penknife, that would 
cut up a quill admirably, and above all, could 
write just the most comical three-cornered 
notes, that no one but herself had the ingenu- 
ity to open. Liph Green was never idle, ev- 
ery moment was employed, for if nothing 


mr. davvson’s pupils. 


67 


better offered, he could make pewter six- 
pences, and wooden jack-knives, but his lesson 
was usually the farthest of anything from his 
thoughts. No one bent over his book more 
assiduously, and no one’s lips moved faster, 
but there were no words upon them, and the 
roguish little eye, over which the lid drooped 
so demurely, instead of resting on the book, 
stole just a hair’s breadth below it, and watch- 
ed the motions of the truant fingers. The 
employment of those fingers depended upon 
the materials with which their owner sup- 
plied himself in the morning, and never was 
a pocket so loaded down with invenjtions of 
every kind as his. For Liph, Robert had the 
greatest dislike, even hatred; for he was, like 
all shy persons, peculiarly susceptible to ridi- 
cule, and the irresistible drollery of the young 
jester’s manner, and the good humor that was 
always evident, even in his practical jokes, 
could not atone for the impudence of making 
our student the subject of them. 

Such were some of the young minds over 
which Mr. Dawson exercised control, and 
whose whole after course might depend upon 
his slightest word or action. To say that 


58 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


Mr. Dawson was fully conscious of his re- 
sponsibilities, with our knowledge of his char- 
acter, tells at once a tale of ceaseless and 
untiring effort ; and to say that he was amply 
rewarded by success, proves the accomplish- 
ment of a vast amount of good. Yet he 
could not lay the spirit of mirth that was 
bounding in every pulse of Liph Green ; he 
could not create in Mary Lucas a love for the 
labor of thinking ; he could not prevent Ju- 
lia May’s eyes wandering from her book to 
the showy ribbon about her neck ; and he 
could not add life to the snail-like patience of 
John Smith, who would sit his six long hours 
over a lesson in geography, and then remem- 
ber but a single fact. There were Lizzy 
Parker, as sweet a creature as ever breath- 
ed, and very teachable withal ; and Fanny 
Blair, a notable devourer of books ; and Rich- 
ard Lucas, who, although it was his first 
winter at school, evinced surprising quick- 
ness ; and the amiable Joseph Warren, so 
strictly conscientious, and loving his books, 
because Mr. Dawson said he ought to love 
them, and these relieved the shadow that his 
want of success in other cases, sometimes 


mr. dawson’s pupils. 


59 


oast upon his spirits. Yet of all his pupils, 
there was not one in whom he had such 
perfect confidence, as Robert May. Perhaps 
he loved Allen Lucas better, for there was 
a tie between them, that no one who has 
never given its first impulse to an immortal 
nature, and no one who has not been thus 
acted upon, can comprehend ; yet he trembled 
for him, and dreaded to go away, lest with 
him should depart his influence also. But he 
had no need to fear : Allen had tried his pow- 
ers, and he never could grow weary of exer- 
cising them ; he had taken one draught of the 
waters of knowledge, and it had created a 
life-long thirst ; he had given a little glance 
to the field spread out before him, and his 
heart swelled, and his hand even now longed, 
to busy itself in doing. 


CHAPTER VI. 


mr. dawson’s last story. 

The winter passed rapidly, and the day 
before the school closed, Mr. Dawson sat 
down to his desk to tell his last story ; for 
the next day’s leisure was to be devoted to 
advice and leave-taking. Allen Lucas, with 
the hair flung back from his full, high fore- 
head, his mild, but unshrinking eye fixed upon 
the speaker, and his lips parted in the attitude 
of a listener, was the most striking figure of 
the group ; but next him, a stranger would 
have turned to Liph Green, perched high 
upon a writing desk, the very position of his 
foot and curve of his fingers, to say nothing of 
the rogue, twinkling in the corner of either 
bright eye, and lurking in every dimple of his 
face, indicating the spirit within, and contrast- 
ing somewhat oddly with the stolfd figure of 
John Smith below. Then’ there was Julia 
May, playing with the soft, flaxen ringlets of 


mr. dawson’s last story. 61 

Lizzy Parker, and Joseph Warren, setting a 
fine example of attention to the younger boys, 
who loved him for his kindness and gener- 
osity, and little Abby Stillman, sitting at Liz- 
zy’s feet, and looking up at her, instead of 
Mr. Dawson, and still beyond and around, 
rows of faces of more or less intelligence and 
beauty. But there was one, with little about 
him to attract attention, who did not lose one 
w r ord of the interesting story. A little aside 
from the others, with his elbow resting upon 
the desk, making the stoop in his shoulders 
very conspicuous, and his small, black eye 
sometimes raised to Mr. Dawson’s face, and 
sometimes falling, as if from sheer habit, upon 
a large volume which lay open before him, 
sat Robert May, his face growing every mo- 
ment more thoughtful, and the pale red spot 
in the centre of his cheek deepening, but with 
nothing else to betray the ambitious hopes 
that were swelling in his bosom. Mr. Daw- 
son observed these tokens of interest, but he 
mistook their source, or he would not have 
added fuel to the flame that already burned 
but too high. 


62 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


“ Of my first teacher,” said he, “ I have no 
recollection, except that he used to pat me 
affectionately on the head, when I had been 
good, but some of my school-mates I can re- 
member distinctly. Among these, William 
Edwards was my favorite, because he was 
almost as big as a man, and always took good 
care that none of the little boys should be 
hurt. He did not belong to the district, but 
had come a weary way for the privilege of 
attending a good school, and he found one of 
a first-rate order. It was on one of the 
stormiest days in January, that a lad, about 
sixteen years of age, called at the house of a 
farmer in the neighborhood, and first making 
particular inquiries respecting the school, the 
qualifications of the teacher, &c., asked to be 
directed to a family where he might Work for 
his board. The stranger could not boast a 
robust frame, but he spoke very confidently 
of his strength, and so Mr. Gilbert, the old 
farmer, concluded to give him a trial. I have 
some slight recollection of William Edwards' 
first entrance into school, and can distinctly 
remember his calm, manly bearing, when 
some thoughtless boys ridiculed his patched. 


MR. DAWSON S LAST STORY. 


63 


and thread-bare coat. Indeed, I am sorry to 
say that he met with more ridicule at first, 
than kind consideration for his circumstances. 
He heeded it but little, however, and pursued 
his studies night and day, with an assiduity 
which would have worn out any one, not 
finding variety in active employment. The 
fresh morning air cooled the fever of night 
study, and the care that he was required to 
bestow upon the sheep and cattle, relieved 
his mind, and exercised his limbs. He never 
spoke of his friends, and when a little boy 
once asked where his mother lived, he point- 
ed one hand upward, and with the other, 
dashed off the tear that sprang to his eye. 
Questions about his father, he seemed loth 
to answer, but the flush on his cheek, and the 
drooping of the eye-lid, as if in shame, when 
Mr. Gilbert produced the cider mug, and 
urged him to drink, sufficiently betrayed his 
secret. He said that he had no home, but 
when Mr. Gilbert offered him a place at his 
table and fireside, he gently refused; and 
when urged, he proudly answered that he 
was no beggar, he would work for his bread 
where he could do so, in pursuance of the - ^ 

D 


64 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


plan of life he had marked out for himself, 
but he would accept of nothing that his own 
hands had not earned. William Edwards 
could not have found an individual better cal- 
culated to further his plans than our teacher, 
who lent him books, and devoted much of 
his leisure time to him, and finally recom- 
mended him to an academy, where he might 
soon be prepared for entering college. Here 
he remained about a year, working his way 
day by day, and then he slung his little bun- 
dle over his shoulders, and again went out 
upon the world a stranger. For years he 
struggled hard with fortune, now within the 
college walls, engaged for a term or two in 
severe study, and now teaching in some re- 
tired place, where his services were far from 
being appreciated, and bending over his 
books at midnight, striving to keep up with 
his class. But his health at last failed, and 
for many months he was confined to a dark- 
ened room, and denied the use of books, and 
the society of friends. Then when he slowly 
recovered, came a heavy bill, for the home- 
less can not be attended in sickness without 
money ; and so he taught, and studied, and 


mr. dawson’s last story. 65 

struggled on, year after year, and finally the 
goal was reached: he graduated, crowned 
with honors. During all this time, William 
Edwards had not been alone ; he had found 
a friend in every acquaintance, and many, 
among whom were the officers of the insti- 
tution of which he was a member, regarded 
his career admiringly. It was by this means 
that he easily obtained a situation in a boys’ 
seminary, but upon the first vacancy, he 
gained the office of tutor in the college where 
he was educated, and was afterwards endow- 
ed with a professorship. Since then, his love 
of active pursuits has induced him to engage 
in public affairs, and,” added Mr. Dawson, a 
smile lighting up his whole face, “ there are 
now but few men in our country, that can 
boast a higher station or prouder honors, than 
he whose real name in my little sketch I 
have thought proper to conceal under that of 
William Edwards.” 

“ He must have had an unusual share of 
perseverance,” said Allen Lucas, drawing in 
his breath, as if fatigued by the mere act of 
listening, “ I can’t see how a man could keep 
up his courage so long.” 


ALLEN LUCAS, 


GO 

‘‘Perseverance will accomplish wonders,” 
said Mr. Dawson ; “ William Edwards arose 
by a constant succession of efforts, some 
of them no greater than several of you have 
made this winter; decision is necessary in 
such cases, for you will always find that it 
requires a much greater effort to decide on 
the performance of a difficult duty, than really 
to perform it ; I don’t mean by this, that it is 
more common to persevere than resolve, for 
facts show directly the reverse, but moun- 
tains diminish to mole-hills before us, when, 
spade in hand, we stand up determined to 
level them.” 

“Then Robert May will have a pretty 
easy job of it,” whispered Liph Green, loud 
enough to be heard perfectly well by every- 
body present, and yet with his forefinger 
pressed;: mysteriously to his lips ; “ he decided 
on being governor long ago.” 

Robert May bit his lips, and turned his 
back upon the group, muttering as he took 
up one book after another, and examined the 
title-pages, “ he may be more than any of you 
dream.” Liph Green, with all his lightness 
and folly, seemed to be endowed with the 


mr. dawson’s last story. 67 

gift of second sight, as far as character was 
concerned, and it was the consciousness of 
being too well known, that made Robert so 
exceedingly uncomfortable in his presence, 
and added bitterness to his hatred. 

“And what is your decision?” inquired 
Mr. Dawson, laughingly. 

“ Mine ! O I hate ‘ great efforts,’ and always 
look out for the easiest part ; so I do difficult 
things without deciding.” 

“ I am afraid it is the only way you will 
ever do anything,” Mr. Dawson thought, but 
he did not say so, and merely answered, 
“Frankly acknowledged, my boy, but this 
looking out for the easiest part, never makes 
sterling men.” 

“ I don’t see,” said Allen Lucas, “ how we 
boys can decide on what we will be, till we 
find out for what we are fit.” 

“ You can not,” replied Mr. Dawson ; “ you 
can decide now upon fitting yourselves for 
taking a part in the world, and for this every 
faculty of body, mind and heart requires the 
highest cultivation ; you can decide that your 
lives shall be virtuous, that you will always 
support good principles, and make yourselves 
d2 


68 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


useful to your fellow-men; then in a few 
years you will decide upon a vocation ; but 
not until you are old enough to discover what 
is best adapted to your characters, tastes and 
circumstances. Nothing so injures a man’s 
stability and firmness of character, as deciding 
this matter when too young, and making a 
mistake.” 

“Well, I shall be a farmer,” said a hale, 
stout, square-shouldered fellow, who looked 
yis though the flail and sythe would be mere 
toys in his hands. 

1 1 think — I should like — to be a — a school- 
master,” remarked Joseph Warren, with 
much timidity, and casting a furtive glance at 
Mr. Dawson, as if to discover whether such 
a predilection was considered too great pre- 
sumption. 

“ I mean to be a circus-rider,” said Liph 
Green, springing from the desk like a monkey, 
and vaulting on the one opposite. 

“ Liph !” “ Why Liph Green ! ” were the 
simultaneous exclamations. 

“ Circus-riders are very bad men,” remark- 
ed Mr. Dawson, seriously. 

“ No, a sailor — I would rather be a sailor, 


mr. dawson’s last story. 


69 


after all — now see me climb the shrouds,” 
and much more to hide his confusion than 
display his activity, he caught hold of the 
bell-rope, and disappeared in the loft. 

“ Poor boy ! ” sighed Mr. Dawson involun- 
tarily. 

“ He don’t mean it, sir,” said Allen Lucas, 
in a low tone ; “ it is all fun, and he is one of 
the best hearted boys in the world. He’ll 
be steadier when he gets older.” 

Mr. Dawson looked up with a pleased 
smile, but he was more encouraged for the 
pleader, than him for whom he plead; for 
Allen observed that the next moment he 
shook his head sorrowfully. Our young 
student had looked sufficiently into the future, 
to understand the source of this sorrow ; and 
from that time forth, as if to repay the kind- 
ness that the school-master had shown to 
him, he exercised the care of an elder brother 
over his wild and reckless friend. 

The last day of school is usually made up 
of smiles and tears. Even those who have 
anticipated it with the greatest pleasure, are 
the first to weep at the reality; for then 
comes a full realization of past enjoyments — 


70 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


all past — little associations broken up — the 
connecting links between young hearts mar- 
red, if not dissevered. The school-boy does 
not say all this, but he feels it, and hence his 
sadness ; yet he knows little of disappoint- 
ment, he thinks upon the change, and hence 
the counteracting joy. He would not tell 
you so, but he feels that the brotherly tie, 
between him and his school-mates, is a 
brotherly one no longer, and during the sum- 
mer, when they meet in the field, or by the 
road-side, there will be an awkward shyness 
between them, for the summer school, being 
for the little ones, does not gather them all 
into one family again. But sadder than 
usual, and much more quiet, was the last day 
of the school at the Corners this winter. Mr. 
Dawson was loved and respected by his 
pupils ; he was not above the weakness of 
feeling himself, and feeling is very infectious. 
Some of the older boys, who thought it be- 
neath their dignity to show anything like soft- 
ness of heart, put a bold face upon the matter, 
and although almost choked with the effort 
of keeping down a something, that felt very 
much like a nutmeg grater in the throat, they 


mr. dawson’s last story. 71 

did keep it down, until Mr. Dawson’s voice 
showed that he too was suffering under the 
same infliction, and even then they did not 
wholly yield, till his face was entirely lost in 
the folds of his pocket-handkerchief. Then 
there was such a time ! Oh, you never saw 
the like ! and poor Lizzy Parker — how she 
sobbed, until it seemed as though her little 
heart would break, and how Allen Lucas, 
with a self-control quite new to him, comfort- 
ed her, telling her that Mr. Dawson had 
promised to write him letters, and she should 
^ee every one of them. And then how gen- 
tle and sorrowful Mr. Dawson’s face looked, 
when the handkerchief was taken away ; how 
soft and low was his voice, and how affec- 
tionate the very touch of his hand, as he bade 
them all good-bye. Then each, without a 
whisper, passed slowly out the door, and the 
faithful teacher was left alone, to review the 
past, and to feel that the book was sealed, 
that not one line could be dashed out or added 
to its pages. Thrilling thought to him, who 
is acquitted by conscience, but to the self- 
condemned how awful ! 


CHAPTER VII. 


SUMMER STUDY, AND THE NEXT WINTER SCHOOL, 

The spring is a busy time with farmers, 
and Allen Lucas found but little leisure to 
devote to his books, after leaving school. He 
arose early in the morning, as he had always 
been taught, but the whole family were up 
as early, and this was no time for study. As 
soon as breakfast was dispatched, each re- 
paired to his station in the field, from whence 
he was called only by the dinner horn, and 
then he again returned, and continued his 
labor till sunset. Guiding the plough, or 
laying fence all the day long, meanwhile 
breathing the cool, pure air of spring, is 
doubtless healthful employment, but one who 
has been thus employed, until every limb and 
muscle feels the consequent fatigue, is ill fitted 
for mental labor ; and it must be a high pur- 
pose that will prevent his seeking that rest, 
which to the laboring man is so sweet. 


WINTER SCHOOL. 


73 


When Allen sat down in the house at night, 
he felt a drowsiness creeping over him, and 
then it required his strongest effort to turn to 
his school-books. Every Saturday night he 
trudged off to the village, to look for letters 
from Mr. Dawson, and it was a proud mo- 
ment to the whole family when one of these 
arrived. After the first letter, came a pam- 
phlet, treating of different soils, and a variety 
of other things connected with farming, and 
this aroused Allen’s interest, which had begun 
to flag, giving new employment to his even- 
ings, and supplying him with subjects of 
thought during the day. He compared his 
own observations with what he read, and 
talked over these subjects with his father and 
brothers, and often asked the old men of the 
neighborhood questions, gathering from their 
conversation much practical knowledge. 
Next, Mr. Dawson sent a small treatise on 
geology; it contained only the first rudi- 
ments of the science, but it was very use- 
ful to Allen, for he carried out the subject 
beyond the information given in the book, 
raising the cover of the green sod upon the 
hill-side, and reading the lesson as God 


74 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


stamped it there. That summer, Allen felt 
that a new world was around, and a new sky 
above him ; his soul was animated by new 
emotions, his mind was unshackled, and his 
eye unsealed. He discovered that earth is 
one vast book, and every page of it presents 
a lesson rich in its simplicity, yet reading on, 
on, to infinity ; its simplest thesis limitless and 
incomprehensible. Allen had been awakened 
to the study of this vast book by looking into 
those made by men ; and he knew that he 
needed all the aid which they could give in 
comprehending it, yet he loved to study this 
the best. 

When the next winter came, Allen was 
better prepared to appreciate the blessings 
which it brought, and he entered upon his 
studies with a high relish. Mr. Dawson’s 
successor was well versed in all he professed 
to understand, and fully qualified to teach, 
not only the branches required in a district 
school, but many higher ones. With the 
whole theory of teaching he was familiar, 
and having an agreeable address, and a polish- 
ed exterior, he promised to equal, if not excel, 
his predecessor. In childhood, he had at- 


WINTER SCHOOL. 


75 


tended a school much like that at the Cor- 
ners, but afterwards, his parents removing to 
town, he had received instruction in an acade- 
my, designed expressly for boys. Here he 
had made no mean use of his time and op- 
portunities ; and in consequence, had gained 
an education superior to the generality of 
young men in his circumstances. Emerging 
from this school, and without a definite ob- 
ject in view, he had turned to teaching, as the 
most respectable and lucrative manner of 
filling up this niche of time, and had found 
his way to the Corners, where, by under- 
bidding Mr. Dawson, he obtained his situ- 
ation. 

Mr. Leonard did not conceal his object in 
teaching, and professed to believe no man 
would pursue such a calling but for money, 
pronouncing all who professed a higher mo- 
tive, hypocrites. He was not idle, during 
the six hours a day which he had engaged to 
devote to his school, but when they were 
over, he felt like a freed prisoner, and, turn- 
ing as soon as possible to other subjects, did 
not allow the duties of the day to trouble his 
thoughts till nine, the next morning. The 


76 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


difference between the two teachers was felt 
by the whole school : it was evident, even to 
the dullest, that Mr. Leonard did not care for 
their actual advancement, that he was more 
pleased to see the hand of his watch pointing 
at four, than to hear the best lesson that ever 
was learned ; and soon, the most of the chil- 
dren grew listless and idle. Mr. Leonard 
was, however, stricter in some respects than 
Mr. Dawson ; for it is much less trouble to 
flog a boy than to reason with him ; and the 
latter mode of treatment is generally of suf- 
ficient efficacy to exact obedience. Physical 
strength should be the last resort in govern- 
ment, for although a very convincing mode 
of argument to the weak, the truths thus in- 
culcated are strangely evanescent. Mr. 
Leonard would have been the gainer, as well 
as his pupils, if he had chosen to exert his 
moral power instead, but he adopted the 
k course that seemed easiest for himself, and 
| poor Liph Green was not the only sufferer.* 
Mr. Dawson had always make a wide dis- 
tinction between errors resulting from acci- 
dent or carelessness, and those which evinced 
a lack of principle ; but Mr. Leonard had no 


WINTER SCHOOL. 


77 


severer punishment for a deliberate falsehood, 
than for an involuntary laugh. Poor Lizzy 
Parker, whom nobody had ever found guilty 
of intentional offense, was one day convicted 
of whispering, and obliged to sit one whole 
hour on a block of wood, like a criminal in 
the stocks, because she had ventured to take 
the head of a little girl, crying from home- 
sickness, upon her lap, and attempt to soothe 
her. How her face glowed with shame, and 
drooped upon her bosom, as she found her- 
self subjected to the same punishment, and 
seated beside a rude, coarse girl, who in a fit 
of passion, had struck a little sister in the 
face. Lizzy never broke a rule again ; yet 
her loving heart had received a check that 
frightened, though it could not chill it. Sim- 
ple and guileless, she trembled at her own 
kind feelings, supposing there must be some- 
thing wrong in exercising them, and yet im- 
pelled to do so by their irresistible strength. 
But the influence, which on the gentle Lizzy 
was only temporary, was differently felt by 
others. The older scholars were indignant ; 
for the sweet child, who never thought of 
herself while anything remained to be done 


78 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


for others, was under the particular care and 
protection of each member of the school ; and 
no one could be injured half so easily in per- 
son as through Lizzy Parker. The older 
scholars lost confidence in Mr. Leonard, and 
the younger ones confounded the two offen- 
ses, and lost the distinction between actual 
wrong done from a bad motive, and a trivial 
error, made error by circumstances, and the 
result of mere thoughtlessness. Yet Mr. 
Leonard was not a cruel man, he never pun- 
ished unmercifully, and he would have been 
shocked at the idea of breaking down the dis- 
tinction between right and wrong, or between 
pardonable folly and actual crime. 

Liph Green improved but little this winter 
in knowledge, and still less in moral strength. 
His volatile spirits continually carried him to 
extremes, and between rejoicing over a new 
resolution, and breaking an old one, he re- 
ceived floggings enough to tame any nature 
that was tameable. Though his feelings, ex- 
citable as the mercury of the thermometer, 
indicated the state of the moral atmosphere 
about him, yet the wild partridge is not more 


WINTER SCHOOL. 


79 


free and tameless, than was the boy, who, 
even while suffering for one of his ridiculous 
freaks, could not resist the opportunity to 
perform another. Under Mr. Leonard’s in- 
structions, Mary Lucas regained some of her 
lost reputation, and Robert May made rapid 
progress, for he needed books more than an 
instructor, and the opportunity to study more 
than assistance in his studies. This was very 
much the case with Allen Lucas, also ; yet 
he often felt the need .of that sympathy for 
the pleasures as well as difficulties of his pur- 
suits, which, as it was no part of his contract, 
Mr. Leonard did not feel himself bound to 
accord. Perhaps the self-dependence which 
Allen was obliged to exercise this winter, 
strengthened his character ; but Robert May 
did not need it, for he had already too little 
sympathy with others. Mr. Leonard, how- 
ever, was a competent teacher, as far as in- 
struction was concerned ; and as Allen had 
imbibed a fondness for mathematical sciences, 
he made such a beginning as enabled him 
afterwards to pursue them without assist- 


ance. 


80 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


“How I wish Mr. Dawson was here to 
tell us a story !” said Liph Green, one day 
after the morning school had closed. 

“ Mr. Leonard would tell one, I dare say, 
if he didn’t go home to dinner,” replied Mary 
Lucas. 

“ It is lucky for us that he does go,” an- 
swered Liph ; “ if he was here, we shouldn’t 
have the privilege of speaking a loud word.” 

“Well, I wish Mr. Dawson was here all 
the time,” said Julia May, pouting her rosy 
lip, “ he always let me make figures, on Rob- 
ert’s slate after I’d learned my lesson, and 
used to tell me sometimes that they were 
almost as handsome as Robert’s.” 

I “ And he didn’t call you up , did he, Julia ?” 
said little Abby Stillman, looking coaxingly 
into her face, as if to say, “ see how sorry I 
am that Mr. Leonard did.” 

“ No, indeed he didn’t call me up, for such 
a little thing as marking on a Slate — Mr. 
Dawson wouldn’t do that.” 

“He would, if marking on a slate was 
against the rule,” said Mary. 

“ But he wouldn’t make such a silly rule,” 
was the reply. 


WINTER SCHOOL. 


81 


“ For my part I think it is a very good 
rule ,” said Mary, who was freed from the 
observance of it by studying arithmetic ; “ I 
don’t see what all the little girls w T ant of 
slates.” 

“ I am almost as old as you are,” said Julia, 
drawing up her shoulders with a wonderful 
attempt at dignity ; but before she could pro- 
ceed farther, she was interrupted by Allen 
Lucas. * , 

“ I think they are of a great deal of use, 
Mary, and I wish all the younger children in 
school had them. It is a good way of em- 
ploying their time ; for they can not study 
to much advantage, and they get very tired 
and forget almost as much as they learn, 
when confined to their books constantly. 
Then they make by this means a good be- 
ginning in writing.” 

“ Then you would have them all scribble 
* on a slate, I suppose,” interrupted Mary, 
“ whether Mr. Leonard allows it or not.” 

“ Oh no, Mr. Leonard sees both sides of 
the question, and we only one, so we can 
not tell how many good reasons he has for 
acting as he does. At any rate, he has a 


ALLEN LUCAS, 


8^ 


right to make as many rules of that kind as 
he chooses, and we ought to obey them.” 

“Of course you’ll say so,” said Julia, pet- 
tishly, “ for you can make as many figures 
as you please.” 

“ And sometimes more,” said Allen laugh- 
ing. “ But it is of no use, Julia, to complain 
of Mr. Leonard, and find fault with his rules, 
and it only makes us unhappy. We couldn’t 
expect to find another Mir. Dawson, and 
whoever comes to teach, or whatever he 
does, we must take care that our part is well 
done, and then we shall never suffer much 
wrong.” 

“ I don’t think that Lizzy Parker was a bit 
to blame, when Mr. Leonard made her sit 
on the dunce-block,” interrupted one of the 
older girls. Allen hesitated, for he did not 
like to condemn Lizzy Parker, but he soon 
cleared his voice and proceeded. “ Lizzy 
was not to blame, for she didn’t think any- 
thing about the rule, but her whispering was 
a violation of it, and Mr. Leonard was 
bound by his word to punish her.” 

“ But,” continued the girl, “ what use was 



WINTER SCHOOL. 


S3 


there in making such a promise ? Mr. Daw- 
son never did.” 

“ No, Mr. Dawson made the punishment 
discretionary, and that was doubtless the 
best way ; but it caused him a great deal of 
trouble.” 

“ Why, I am sure he kept as orderly a 
school as we have now.” 

“ Yes, but he used to inquire into every- 
thing that was wrong, and find out all about 
it ; and that must have been a very difficult 
task, and taken up a great deal of time.” 

“Mr. Dawson never was afraid of his 
time,” said another of the boys, “ and would 
have staid in the school-house all night, if 
he could have helped anybody by the means. 
But Mr. Leonard must clear the house at 
four o’clock, and the minute the last boy gets 
out he follows and locks the door.” 

“ Well, one thing I know,” said Liph 
Green; “I can cheat Mr. Leonard, and will, 
every time I can get a chance.” 

“ Cheat him ? how ?” 

“Why, he^don’t believe a word I say, so 
there is no use in telling him whether I did 
a thing or not. If he catches me at it, he 


84 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


will whip me, and if he don’t I will have the 
fan of cheating him.” 

“How do you know he don’t believe 
you ?” 

“ Why, he don’t believe any of us ; he 
asks questions, and tries to make us cross 
ourselves, and yesterday when I got so sleepy, 
and promised I wouldn’t step my foot out. of 
the shed if he would let me go and cut wood, 
I could see him peeping out the window 
every time I stopped for breath, as though 
he thought I would be gone. I declare I’d 
a great mind to run with all my might.” 

“ Why didn’t you ?” asked J ulia May. 

“ And so prove him in the right,” said 
another. 

“I did scare him some, making motions, 
and I stopped so often to make him come to 
the window, that at last he called me in.” 

“ So you gained vastly by scaring him, as 
you tell about,” said Allen. 

“ Yes, but I’ll make up another time. I 
can look on my book and whisper, and he 
never would find it out in the world. I didn’t 

gi 

dare do that when Mr. Dawson was here, 
for you know he always asked at night, and 


WINTER SCHOOL. 


85 


denying it would be a downright lie; but 
Mr. Leonard never thinks of asking, because 
he says boys are not to be believed. Oh, I 
can cheat him in a thousand ways.” 

“Well, what good will it do you?” asked 
Lizzy Parker. 

“ It will be serving him right.” 

“ But it will do you no good,” said Allen 
seriously, “ and, even if you wished it, which 
I am sure you do not, him no harm. I own 
that it is not pleasant to be watched every 
minute as though we couldn’t be trusted, but 
that is no reason why we should make our- 
selves unworthy of trust. Let us remember 
what Mr. Dawson used to tell us so often, 
that our actions here will have an influence 
which we shall carry out into the world 
with us ; and when we act we should not 
merely decide what will serve our present 
purpose, annoy this person or please that 
one, but what is right, and will help to fit us 
for the part we shall have to act in the world. 
Just think of it, Liph — you must neglect your 
books to deceive Mr. Leonard, act against 
your conscience, and in the end gain nothing 
but evil ; for such a course would make you 
e2 


86 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


sly, artful and false, and neither you nor I 
can tell where it would end.” 

“ How well you remember what Mr. Daw- 
son said ! ” answered Liph, “ now I had for- 
gotten every word about it; but you are 
right, I know, and I wish I could be so good 
and sober. It is such fun to plague Mr. 
Leonard though ! ” 

Conversations like the foregoing were very 
common in school this winter, and they were 
not without a good tendency, for the influence 
of Mr. Dawson’s precepts was not lost, and 
there was a self-rectifying principle at work 
in some minds, that communicated itself to 
others, and if it could not reform, did much 
to check the dangerous feelings and princi- 
ples, that otherwise would have gained the 

^cendancy. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


MORE OF LIPH GREEN. 

The ensuing summer, as Allen was older 
and more trustworthy, he was allowed many 
privileges that he had not before enjoyed ; 
and he found that by laying out his work regu- 
larly, and paying great regard to punctual- 
ity and order, he could gain a great deal of 
time for study. This time, as may well be 
supposed, was not wasted. He now read a 
great many books, particularly those recom- 
mended by Mr. Dawson, with whom he still 
kept up a correspondence, and whose hint' 
were invaluable. Robert May, much to the 
expense of his sisters’ ribbons and laces, was 
sent away to a seminary of learning, and 
poor Liph Green, light as his spirit had ever 
been, was well nigh sunken in troubles. 

Close by the creek, or river as it was usu- 
ally designated, and nearly a quarter of a 
mile from the road-side, was a pile of logs, 


88 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


flung together something in the shape of a 
house, with a little enclosure on one side, 
bounded by a zigzag fence, closely resem- 
bling an old fashioned mammoth bow, round- 
ing out from the crown of a bonnet. There 
was but one window in the house, and that 
had no glass in it, but was covered with a 
white muslin cloth during the day, and board- 
ed up at night, if the weather was cold, but 
if not, it was left open. The floor was made 
of loose boards, that rattled at every step in 
summer, but in winter they were carefully 
corked, with old rags. The door was low 
and narrow, and everything about the prem- 
ises had such a diminutive appearance, that 
this might have been mistaken for a residence 
belonging to the famous Lilliputians. In the 
enclosure before mentioned, were, at the 
proper season for them, a few hills of beans, 
a few more of potatoes, a little bed contain- 
ing beets and carrots, then beyond these 
some young cabbage plants, and mingling 
here and there, might have been discovered 
the whiti^x green leaves of the poppy, and 
now and then a bursting bud arose, or a crim- 
son blossom flaunted in the morning sun, and 


MORE OF LIPH GREEN. 


89 


cast its honors to the earth at evening. 
Close by the door, a thrifty bean vine had 
been trained upward, till it had reached the 
eaves, and on the other side was a cluster of 
hollyhocks ; and still further along, arose 
some giant sunflowers, towering high, and 
wagging their heads to every breeze, as if in 
mockery of the seeming toys around them. 

A little while before this rude dwelling- 
place was constructed, a poor creature had 
come to the Comers, with a baby in her arms, 
and leading by the hand a little boy, who 
clung to her side and hid his face in her 
gown when strangers were near, but bounded 
before her like a playful kitten, turning back 
now and then to laugh and clap his hands in 
the face of the baby, as soon as they were 
out again in the free streets. She told a sad 
story. She spoke of plenty and happiness 
in a far-off land, of the restless spirit which 
had made this seem not enough, then of a 
dreary voyage across the seas to a goal that 
•to her unenlightened imagination was an 
earthly paradise, of folding him who had 
guided her thither in his shroud, and laying 
him in a stranger’s grave, and then of an- 


DO 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


guish, followed by want and loneliness, by 
sickness and anxiety, until the bitterness of 
death was passed, and nothing but thoughts 
of her children prevented her from lying 
down beside her husband and ending her 
sufferings there. But these kept the moth- 
er’s heart from breaking, and she had toil- 
ed along from door to door, bearing her 
infant on her bosom, until at last she had pen- 
etrated into the heart of the country. She 
did not beg for anything but work, and 
though the people at the Corners were little 
accustomed to having their labor performed 
by others, they could not resist the eloquence 
of real sorrow, and poor Mrs. Green went 
from house to house, washing and ironing, 
and performing many other services in which 
the wives and daughters of the farmers were 
by no means ashamed to join. But some- 
times she had nothing to do, and then of ne- 
cessity she had nowhere to stay, so some 
kind-hearted men of the neighborhood con- 
cluded to roll together some logs from the 
hills, and give the stranger a home. The 
spot by the river’s side was selected because 
the materials might be more easily convened 


MOKE OF L1PH GREEN. 


91 


thither, and as it was much more picturesque 
than a place by the dusty road, the poor 
widow gained in tastefulness what she lost 
in convenience. But once settled in her 
humble abode she cared little for inconveni- 
ences, and soon her cheerful temper triumphed 
over all her sorrows, and, merry as the lark 
that she always saw rise from his nest in the 
morning, she caroled her songs all through 
the day, and at night lay down beside her 
two children, contented and happy. She did 
not suffer from cold nor hunger, for the bro- 
ken wood from the neighboring forests kept 
her fire blazing brightly, and she earned 
enough by her labor to obtain a decent sup- 
port for herself and children. The eldest of 
these children, the fun-loving Liph Green, 
was old enough to be useful in a variety of 
ways ; and little Nannie in one, at least, for 
the pretty lisper drew the neighboring chil- 
dren to the hut by the river-side, and their 
mirth served to beguile its mistress of many 
a wearisome hour. Thus passed almost two 
happy years, happy enough to be envied by 
some of the most favored children of fortune, 
but before the last was completed, there open- 


92 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


ed upon the earth a beautiful spring; the 
trees budded, the birds came back to their 
old haunts, and the strong winds died away 
into gentle breezes, but these were all un- 
noticed by poor Liph Green. Alas ! that 
childhood should not be exempt from sorrows ! 
Heavy indeed must have been the burden 
that could make a young heart unmindful of 
the beautiful things of this bright earth, and 
benumbing the influence that could quiet the 
pulses, in which the tide, bursting from the 
fountain of a joyous heart, coursed but too 
rapidly. 

Mrs. Green had gone out one warm spring 
morning, thinly clad, and before night, the 
sun was hidden, a slow, drizzling rain de- 
scended, and the wind grew cold and pier- 
cing, but she was unconscious of the change, 
until made aware of it by the chill that made 
her whole frame shiver, on emerging from 
Mr. Smith’s heated kitchen. She, however, 
hurried home as fast as possible, thinking all 
the time of the blazing fire upon her humble 
hearth ; but this time Liph had neglected his 
duty, and not a fragment of the broken wood, 
which he usually obtained from the adjoining 


MORE OF LIPH GREEN. 


93 


fields, had been gathered. Covering his sleep- 
ing sister with the rug, he had seated himself 
on the hearth beside her, and was straining 
his eyes over the few glowing embers, to 
shape the arms of a miniature wind-mill, 
with which he intended to astonish his mother 
the next morning. M 

“ Are you cold,’ mother ?” he inquired, as 
she crouched beside him on the hearth, and 
then, without waiting for an answer, he drew 
the few coals together, and, crossing the 
pine sticks upon which he had bestowed so 
much labor, over them, he ran out the door, 
and soon returned with a heavy armful of 
wood. But the rain that had fallen, had made 
everything too wet to burn; so poor Mrs. 
Green was obliged to go to bed wet and cold, 
with no unusual share of covering to atone 
for lack of fire. In the morning, when she 
attempted to rise, her flushed face and blood- 
shot eye alarmed poor Liph, and when he 
saw her fall across the foot of the bed, and 
laugh, and shriek, and jabber unintelligible 
things, arid sing wild snatches of songs, that 
he had never heard her sing before, he took 
little Nannie in his arms, and without daring 


94 allIsn LUCAS. 

i 

to look behind liifn, ran with all his might 
to the nearest dwelling, screaming at every 
step, that his mother was going to die,' and he 
had killed her. Mrs. Green w r as sick only 
two days, but during that time she had the 
kindest of treatment, and as • much attention 
as the wealthiest in the neighborhood could 
have commanded ; for her cheerfulness, her 
good-humor and faithfulness had gained her 
many friends, and even if it had not been so, 
this was not a place where the poor were 
left to suffer. But no care can stay the fail- 
ing breath, when the spirit has been called 
away, and soon the mother of poor Liph 
Green was stretched cold and still upon the 
bed, with her icy hands folded on her breast, 
her white lips moveless, and her eyelids press- 
ed down by weights under the glazed lid 
beneath. Little Nannie clambered up by the 
old chair that stood beside the bed, to kiss 
her, and went whimpering away because her 
kiss was not returned; and the passionate 
Liph, beside himself w r ith grief, sobbed and 
shrieked aloud, telling every one that spoke 
to him, it was his own work, he had done it 
all. Liph Green never thought of his own 


MORE OF LIPH GREEN. 


95 


fate, or little Nannie’s, when he saw his mo- 
ther laid in the grave, and all that night and 
the succeeding day, some one of the kind 
neighbors staid at the hut and took care of 
them, but finally, they began to talk of re- 
moving the children, and spoke to each other 
in whispers, of which poor Liph could only 
guess the meaning. He soon, however, 
found that they talked of removing him and 
his little sister to the county poor-house, and 
he told them he would not go, he would not 
be shut up in that dreary building, when he 
could work for his bread, and he would go 
hungry and cold, and take his earnings to 
support little Nannie, before he would part 
from her ; at any rate, he would try, and if he 
failed, they would starve together. Allen 
Lucas encouraged Liph in this determination, 
and went all over the neighborhood in search 
of somebody to take charge of the helpless 
little one, who laughed and prattled, all un- 
conscious of her lot. It was towards even- 
ing that the two boys, each holding a hand of 
Nannie, ventured to stop under the trees that 
shaded the door of Mr. Moreton, an English 
gentleman, who had within a few weeks pur- 


96 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


■ 

chased the corner farm opposite Mr. Smith’s. 
They knew little of Mr. Moreton, except the 
name, and the few other unimportant particu- 
lars that country neighbors will always glean ; 
but they had seen no little children on the 
premises, and so concluded that he could not 
make the objection urged by others to receiv- 
ing poor Nannie. While they were hesitating 
whether to make the application, they were 
accosted by a fine, intelligent looking man, 
and Liph entered at once upon his sad story. 
He spoke with the simple pathos of true feel- 
ing, while the unconscious Nannie put out her 
dimpled hands to catch the tears that rolled 
from his cheek, or played with the crape 
about her own neck, and, before he had finish- 
ed, the gentleman had drawn nearer, and 
placed his hand upon her curly head, holding 
with the other the head of his cane for her 
inspection. It needed only a few words from 
Allen Lucas to make Liph’s account intelli- 
gible, and Mr. Moreton, who seemed to feel 
a deep interest in the orphans, perhaps more 
so for being their countryman, promised Liph 
that while he made himself useful, neither of 
them should want a home. Oh how grateful 


MORE OF LIPH GREEN. 


97 


was poor Liph Green for such a promise ! 
and how he hugged little Nannie, and laugh- 
ed and wept at the same moment, and talked 
of his mother and of the poor-house, and then 
threw up his arms and boasted of his strength, 
and declared he would work as long as he 
lived, for whoever took care of Nannie. The 
family of Mr. Moreton consisted only of him- 
self, his wife, and a widowed sister, and so 
the pretty child was a welcome inmate, and 
would have been spoiled by the two ladies, 
if she had not possessed that happy elasticity 
of temperament, that makes all dangerous 
influences rebound perfectly harmless. As 
for Liph, he could not carry a clouded heart 
in the midst of so much sunshine ; so though 
he went often to his mother’s grave and wept 
over it, yet he was usually as joyous as ever, 
and often made the walls of the farm-house 
ring with his merry shout. Allen Lucas 
loved Liph Green as a brother, and went 
often to his new home to see him, and Liph 
told so much of the wondrous knowledge of 
his young friend, and Allen was always so 
modest and sensible, that Mr. Moreton re- 
garded him with no small degree of interest, 


98 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


and often joined in the discussions of the two 
boys, for the mere purpose of drawing out 
his talents. He soon discovered the bent of 
Allen’s mind, and brought him books from his 
own library, the contents of which were 
eagerly devoured ; and after awhile, the li- 
brary door was thrown open, and Allen pass- 
sed in and out, as though it had been his own. 
Mr. Moreton’s library contained a choice 
selection of books, and Allen, after touching 
upon a few lighter things, turned to the Eng- 
lish classics, and entered at once upon a new 
and a glorious field. By slow degrees, his 
mind had been prepared for just such works 
as these, and it is no strange thing, if the 
plough and hoe were a very little neglected, 
and the pillow sometimes untouched, as his 
whole soul was absorbed in his new pursuits. 
But after awhile he received a letter from 
Mr. Dawson, warning him against the state 
of feverish excitement which his mind be- 
trayed, and with a strong effort, he calmed 
himself, read less and thought more, and 
finally became as orderly and industrious as 
he had ever been. The winter following, 
Allen Lucas did not attend school, for he 


MORE OF LIPH GREEN. 


99 


found that he could learn more in Mr. More- 
ton’s library ; and as that gentleman had dis- 
covered Liph Green’s peculiarities, he was 
glad of the opportunity thus offered to carry 
on his education without exposing him to 
temptation. At first, Allen overlooked Liph’s 
lessons, and studied with him, but every day 
he became more and more interested in his 
task, and before another spring, he was duly 
installed in the office of private tutor to his 
heedless friend, and little Nannie. 


F 


CHAPTER IX. 


CHOOSING A VOCATION. 

“ Seventeen years old to-day !” said Allen 
Lucas, as he seated himself on a large stone, 
half embedded in the thick golden moss, and 
the other half extending out into the water. 
For nearly three years he had spent most of 
his time in Mr. Moreton’s family, devoting- 
only the early morning to labor on his father’s*- 
farm, and an, hour each evening to the in>- 
struction of his little brothers, but now, Liph* 
was to throw aside the books which he did' 
not love, and Nannie was old enough to re- 
quire other teachers. Allen sat for a long 
time, resting his forehead on his folded hands ; 
then breaking a fragment from the stone, he 
threw it into the stream, and gpzed intently on 
the bubbles that rose to the surface and dis- 
appeared. “Very like, very like f” he mutter- 
ed, rising with a half impatient gesture, then 
slowly shaking his head and compressing his 


CHOOSING A VOCATION. 


101 


lips, he stood gazing down upon the waters, 
as they glided smoothly over the white sand, 
or leaped, and foamed, and sparkled in minia- 
ture anger, when they met with an obstruc- 
tion. “ Seventeen years ! ” he repeated mu- 
singly, “ and in seventeen more I shall be a 
man, my character formed, my habits fixed, 
my destiny in this world decided — a busy 
man in this busy world ! independent of con- 
trol or guidance, doing whatever I list, and an- 
swerable for everything. Thirty-four years ! 
the very meridian of life, the time when men 
most glory in their strength and power ! as 
many more years will bring me to this, or — ■” 
Allen’s tongue faltered with the alternative, 
but his eye wandered across the adjoining 
field to a green spot of earth newly encircled 
by its simple white fence, and already pillow- 
ing two or three who but a year since walk- 
ed forth among the living. The face of the 
youth grew solemn, but not sad, as his thoughts 
took a different course, and dwelt for a mo- 
ment on his own dissolution, But the being 
whose foot is just pressing upon the verge of 
proud manhood, whose every pulse bounds 
with a consciousness of strength, and w r hose 


102 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


veins thrill with the rushing of the red life-cur- 
rent within, can not long listen to thoughts of 
death and the grave ; he knows , but he can not 
feel , that the strong arm and the true foot will 
ere long fail him, and that the thoughts and feel- 
ings, which raise him above the other living 
things he sees around, will go away, and leave 
the form in which he now glories, less than the 
idiot, less than the reptile crawling at his foot, 
in no wise superior to the coffin which con- 
tains it, and the mould with which it shortly 
mingles. Allen’s eye rested for a moment 
upon the humble church-yard, and his 
thoughts upon the grave, and his own disso- 
lution, but it was only for a moment, and he 
again repeated, “ a man ! a busy man ! — aye, 
I will be a busy and a useful one.” 

So wrapt had the youth been in his musings 
that he did not hear a quiet step, nor know 
that any one was near, until a light hand was 
laid upon his shoulder, and a voice low and 
melodious, but strangely cold, said, “ I have 
been at your house looking for you — where 
have you been hiding all day ?” The speak- 
er was a tall stripling, with a frame very un- 
like the muscular one beside him, a step light 


GHOOSING A VOCATION. 


103 


and undecided a small, white hand, and stoop- 
ing shoulders. His face, but for its extreme 
pallor, would have been handsome ; his fore- 
head was abroad and already marked with 
scarce perceptible lines that a few years 
would in all probability cut into deep wrinkles, 
his eyes were deep-set, bright, black, and 
piercing, his mouth small and feminine, and 
his thin lips, when not speaking, were always 
drawn close together with an expression par- 
ticularly uninviting. 

“ I have been very idle to-day,” was Allen’s 
reply, as he again seated himself upon the 
stone. Come sit down, Robert, and' I will 
tell you what I have been thinking about. 
A fine seat this, and handsomely cushioned,” 
he added, pressing his hand on the soft moss. 

“ I suppose you have been thinking of the 
one grand subject,” said Robert May ; “ it 
wouldn’t require a magician to read either of 
our thoughts at present.” 

“ Do you know that this is my birth-day ?” 
asked Allen. 

“ No, I leave such matters to aunt Biddy,” 
said Robert sneeringly. 

i f2 . J 


104 


ALLEN LUCAS, 


“ But our ages are so near the same that 
we can always tell each other’s by our own 
— three weeks ago yesterday, you were sev- 
enteen.” 

“ Shall you be ready to enter college with 
me ?” asked Robert impatiently. 

“ Then you have decided on going ?” 

“ Yes, that was a settled point long ago, 
but I have been fretted to death in making 
the arrangements — no books, no money, no 
nothing. I declare it makes me angry when 
I see rich people wasting their thousands — 
what under the sun is Mr. Moreton to do 
with that Liph Green ? 

“ Liph is a pretty good scholar for such a 
happy, don’t-care sort of a fellow as he is, 
but he lacks application, and Mr. Moreton 
thinks it is best to cast him on his own re- 
sources for a while. He has purchased a 
large tract of western land, and Liph is to 
earn his title to it by cultivating it.” 

“ Cultivating land ! but no matter, it will be 
all one to him. Cobbler or statesman — he 
never would know the difference.” 

“ You do Liph injustice,” said Allen warm- 
ly, “ he lacks strength and stability of char- 


CHOOSING A VOCATION. 


105 


acter, but he has correct views of life — at 
least Mr. Moreton thinks so — and there is so 
much romance in his disposition, that he will 
always move in a sunny little world of his 
own, and find beauty in what to others is 
stale and common-place.” 

“Very likely,” said Robert sarcastically, 
“ and for that reason, I would advise him to 
be a cobbler. He could sing at his stall all 
day long, happy as cobblers always are, and 
make himself very useful too, undoubtedly.” 

“Far more useful than those who despise 
him ! ” said Allen indignantly. 

Robert was about to retort, when there 
came a short, musical laugh, from the wild 
cherry tree above their heads, the leaves 
rustled, and a shower of white blossoms de- 
scended upon the ground and stream, and 
then an agile figure came swinging down 
upon one of the branches, and dropped him- 
self at Allen’s feet. Both of the conversa- 
tionists were startled a little by the unexpect- 
ed vision, both attempted to speak, stammer- 
ed, colored, and were silent. 

“ Oh go on,” said the new comer, “ don’t let 
me interrupt any sport — pick up the glove, 


106 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


Bob. Ha, ha ! an interesting subject for 
young gentlemen to fall out and quarrel 
about.” 

“Not a very important one, Liph, to be 
sure,” said Allen Lucas, smiling, and laying 
his hand upon the curling locks of his friend 
and pupil. 

“ \ou are the only one that would say it to 
me,” answered Liph Green, acknowledging 
the caress by a gentle inclination of the head, 
“ and yet you think it least of any one.” 

Robert May, his thin lip curling, and his 
small, black eyes glittering like those of a 
snake, folded his arms, and struck into the 
path that led to the turnpike. 

“Stay, Robert,” said Allen, extending his 
hand in token of peace, “you havn’t heard 
a word of my plans yet, and they are all 
changed since our last conversation.” 

“ How changed ?” 

“ But first tell me about yourself — what 
has troubled you?” 

“ Want of what some folks are fools enough 
to throw away — means.” Liph Green sprung 
to his feet, provoked more by the contemptu- 
ous glance thrown upon him, than by the 


CHOOSING A VOCATION. 


107 


words ; but receiving a look of disapproba- 
tion from Allen, he contented himself with 
shaking down another shower of blossoms, 
then folding his arms, he stood leaning against 
the tree, and kicking ^the turf with his heel. 

“ That is a common want,” said Allen, with 
a good-humored smile, “the gifts of fortune 
are as unequally distributed as other gifts, 
.and for wise ends, undoubtedly.” 

“ It may be wisdom to give money to men 
whose highest thoughts are of gilded car- 
riages and fine establishments, while those 
who are thirsting for knowledge — ” 

“ Are endowed instead with the superior 
power of obtaining it without money, and 
making themselves worthy of the possession 
by the process,” interrupted Allen. 

“ Umph ! the process of. getting I should 
think hard enough, without any additional 
labor.” 

“We find, however, that the additional 
labor makes strong men — the more we do, 
the more we are capable of doing.” 

“Well, I shall have enough to do, I can 
tell you. Father isn’t quite sure that he 
can furnish me with the needful, but I think 


108 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


if he and the rest of the family are economi- 
cal, they can save enough, '^particularly as 
Fanny has agreed to teach.” 

“Why, I did’nt know as Fanny was pre- 
pared to teach,” interrupted Allen. 

“ Prepared ! ” said Robert sneeringly, “ fe- 
male teachers are not required to be very 
blue now-a-days.” Allen made no reply, but 
his mind, accustomed to examine conse- 
quences, did not stop at the sacrifice that the 
sister would make, and he wondered how 
Robert dare, merely for his own sake, put in 
motion such a train of evils. “ At any rate,” 
resumed Robert, after a moment’s pause, “ it 
is decided that I shall go to college, for 
nobody can be educated without, but the 
point that remains yet to be settled, is what 
profession to choose afterwards. However, 
that must depend upon circumstances, and, 
(between ourselves,) what seems to offer the 
best opportunity for rising in the world. 
Because my father is a farmer and a poor 
man, I am not bound to follow the plough all 
my days — the greatest men have arisen from 
nothing, and I know that what others have 
done, I can do.” 


CHOOSING A VOCATION. 


109 


“ Our circumstances are very similar,” 
said Allen tho^htfally, “ and I can sympa- 
thize with you with all my heart.” 

“ What did you mean just now, when you 
said you had changed your plans ?” 

“ I have concluded to forego the advan- 
tages of a collegiate education.” 

“ That is the last thing I would do,” re- 
marked Robert quietly, “ every young man 
in our country can be well educated if he 
chooses.” 

“ And I mean to be well educated,” said 
Allen ; “ I have been looking too high, how- 
ever, and must now strike out a humbler 
path.” 

“ What need is there of it f Allen ? I am 
sure you are better off than I am. Here you 
have been earning money these three years, 
while I have been spending it, and now you 
are as well — yes, better educated than I am.” 

“I should like to finish — may be I shall 
sometime, but I can not go forward as you 
will.” 

“Why not? I thought you more lion- 
hearted than to shrink from a task, because 
there are some difficulties in the way.” 


110 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


“ I have not been much accustomed to 
shrinking,” said Allen, raising his head with 
a proud consciousness of self-dependence, 
that no manly nature will bear to hear ques- 
tioned ; “ I have already overcome some dif- 
ficulties, and am prepared to combat more, 
but it is ill-judged to make sacrifices greater 
than the object to be gained will warrant.” 

“ In this case it would be impossible to do 
so — no sacrifice is too great to make in such 
a cause.” 

“ Not even a poor old father’s comfort,” 
said Liph Green, who had been for a long 
time biting his lips, and twisting himself into 
various shapes, longing to interpose a word, 
and yet afraid of displeasing Allen. “You 
needn’t shake your head at me, Allen, every- 
body knows that old Mr. May is working 
himself to death, for the sake of sending his 
lady-son away to school.” 

Robert curled his lip sneeringly, and, as if 
disdaining to answer, continued addressing 
Allen. “No man has ever attained to any 
degree of eminence that halted and trembled 
even before great sacrifices — ” 


CHOOSING A VOCATION. 


Ill 


“ I do not tremble,” interrupted Allen, 
u before any sacrifice but that of principle, 
but there are others I would not make — I halt 
only to examine.” 

“ Mary says your father is willing to de- 
fray your expenses at college.” 

“ Yes, willing, but not able. My parents 
are kind, and would do anything in the world 
for me ; and my brothers are all generosity.” 

“ Then do tell what romantic notion makes 
you throw away such opportunities.” 

“ It is a very unromantic one, I can assure 
you. Think of my father, at the time of life 
when he ought to be sitting at his ease, cared 
for by his sons, sweating in the hay-field, my 
brothers denying themselves the just reward 
of their own industry, my mother and sister 
bringing in their hard-earned mite, and my 
younger brothers removed from school, and 
sent out in the field to dig — do you call that a 
romantic picture ?” 

“ Mary says they would willingly do all in 
their power for you, and surely the sacrifice 
is small, in comparison with the good result.” 

“ If the self-denial were my own, it would 
fee, but justice forbids one of a family to appro- 


112 


ALLEN LUCA3. 


priate what belongs to the whole. Although 
my father does not see it,^and would not 
knowingly do wrong, yet this would be rank 
injustice to his other children, particularly as 
two of them are yet in school, and would be 
obliged to leave it if he should give all to 
me.” 

“ Quite a hero, I declare ! ” said Robert, 
laughingly, “but there’s one thing yet re- 
mains. Such an independent, industrious 
young gentleman as yourself, can have no 
objection to working your way along, as 
many a fine fellow has done, who got to the 
very top of the hill at last.” 

“ Not in the least, Robert, if such a course 
were best. It is what I always intended to 
do, and I have not yet quite abandoned the 
intention. I have decided on going to a 
trade, and hope I shall be able to employ 
private teachers ; but if not, a judicious course 
of reading, and a knowledge of mankind will 
do much towards fitting me for my sphere.” 

“ A trade, Allen ! and so you have been 
studying year after year, and gained the 
reputation of being the best scholar of your 
age in the town, for this. To what branch 


CHOOSING A VOCATION. 


1 IS 


of mechanics do you intend to apply your 
wondrous knowledge ? shoeing horses, or 
making ladies’ dressing-tables ?” 

“ I might be more useful, and perhaps, do 
myself as much honor in either, as I should 
to crowd myself into a place for which I am 
unfit ; an incompetent lawyer is vastly inferior 
to a good blacksmith.” 

“ You are very modest. Though, perhaps 
you did not mean to insinuate that the science 
of law is above your comprehension ?” 

“ No, I did not. I do not suppose it to be 
above my comprehension — at least, more 
than every other science — but I might be a 
thorough student, and still, a very unsuccess- 
ful lawyer.” 

“ And so, doubting your other abilities — ” 

“Pity some other people wouldn’t doubt 
their abilities,” interrupted Liph Green. 

“ No, Robert, my other abilities are untried, 
and it is no fear of failure that has induced 
me to become a mechanic. It is simply 
choice ; a taste for the arts, and a love of 
active pursuits, with strong muscles and in- 
dustrious habits, particularly a love for man- 
ual labor, Would do much towards inducing 


114 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


even you, with all your prejudices, to abandon 
your high plans, for a trade.” 

[Robert shook his head. “No, I would 
correct such a taste, I would have self-control 
enough to make myself whatever I thought 
best to be.” 

“ So would I, but my judgment goes with 
my taste in this matter. The learned pro- 
fessions seem to me to be full ; a young man 
of mere ordinary talents I think, can succeed 
better elsewhere.” 

“ And one of superior talents ?” 

“ Had better follow the bent of his inclina- 
tions. If there is nothing to prevent his 
studying a profession, and he prefers it, let 
him do so ; or if he has a taste for the me- 
chanical arts, I see no reason why it should 
not be gratified.” 

“ But, Allen, think — if you take tins foolish 
step now, it will be a great many years before 
you will amass a fortune, however successful 
you are, and you will be an old, worn out 
man, before you rise above your business.” 

“ I never intend to rise above it, I hope to 
rise in it.” 


CHOOSING A VOCATION. 


115 


“ And take it up with you,” said Robert, 
laughingly. 

“ No, I have chosen an art too high for me 
to ennoble.” 

“ So ho, Mr. Modesty ! I begin to see more 
clearly — an artist, eh ? which is it, painting or 
sculpture ?” 

“Neither, and yet it was a favorite art 
with Greeks, Romans, and Egyptians. 

“ Architecture, eh ?” 

“ Yes ; do you think I shall be disgraced 
by it?” 

“ Oh no, not by architecture, but to come 
away from Greece and Rome, and talk plain, 
every-day English, I must say, I do not think 
Allen Lucas, the poor carpenter, will ever 
arrive to a station of very great honor.” 

“ But everybody shall say he is a good 
carpenter. I tell you, Robert, we need skill- 
ful mechanics, and there is no class of men, 
next our statesmen, that can do their country 
so much honor as these ; if they will but im- 
prove their talents. Think of what mechani- 
cal genius has done for U3, and then think 
what remains undone. If I learn the art of 
building, I do not intend to be satisfied when 


116 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


my term of service expires, that will only be 
the introduction, and I intend to practice and 
study, and study and practice ; until I see if 
something can not be done to improve our 
anomalous style of architecture.” 

“ What ever put this wild notion into your 
head ?” asked Robert May. 

“ I have read a great many works on archi- 
tecture of late, and Mr. Moreton is quite en- 
thusiastic on the subject — he has described 
to me St. Paul’s, and Westminster Abbey, 
and a great many other European buildings. 
I should like to visit the Capitol, at Washing- 
ton.” 

“ I mean to visit it before a great many 
years,” said Robert, with a covert smile. 

“ I hope you will,” was the reply, “ but I 
suspect it will be well for both of us to re- 
member our liability to disappointment. We 
have set our marks high, ‘and it would be 
very singular if we should both reach them.” 

“ I, at least, have one encouragement,” said 
Robert, “ more than you ; mine is a well trod- 
den path, and you will have to break your 
road, if you go beyond the great thorough- 
fare.” 


CHOOSING A VOCATION. 


117 


“Be it so,” said Allen Lucas, rising, “I 
should delight to be a pioneer.” 

“Just what I was thinking of,” said Liph 
Green. “ I have a great fancy for the far 
west, and if you will go with me, you shall 
try your hand at cutting down trees, and 
then upon a nice log house. O how we 
would ‘ ennoble the art’ there, in the wilder- 
ness ! ” Allen smiled, and cast upon his vola- 
tile friend very much such a glance, as a 
mother would bestow upon a child, whose 
very faults were rather pleasant to her; for 
he had been more than a brother to the or- 
phan boy, and felt still more than a brother’s 
interest in his success and happiness. “ Mr. 
Moreton has fixed the matter just right,” con- 
tinued Liph ; “ I shall be 4 monarch of all I 
survey,’ on my farm out west ; and in a few 
years, you will be hearing of * Eliphalet 
Green, Esq., of Greenville’ — no, I leave cas- 
tle building to you and Bob May — but just 
give me a start westward, that’s all. I’ve a 
great fancy for farming, and should like living 
in the woods, and hunting, of all things.” 

“But hunting wouldn’t clear your land,” 
said Allen. 


118 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


“No ; what do you think of that, though V* 
exclaimed Liph, extending, his arm, and dis- 
playing a fist, a trifle heavier than Robert 
May’s. Allen laughed, and placed his own 
beside it. “ What! do you mean to say it 
isn’t strong? just try it then ! come, I can — ■” 

“ No matter what you can do, Liph,. the 
question is what you will do. I have no 
doubt but steadiness of purpose and persever- 
ance will make your hand as powerful as- 
a sledge-hammer.” 

“ There you are right, Alien, and I shall 
have a little log-house, all grown over with; 
eglantine, and a nice garden around it — I 
shall take all sorts of plants with me — and 
then I shall cook my own venison — ■” 

“What of your wood-land and fallow^ 
Liph?” 

“0 1 shall hunt all day, and fish in the 
lake—” 

“But who will (dear and break up your 
land?” 

“ Who ?” myself of course. The old axe 
will ring there, I can tell yon, and the scared 
birds will sail off in the air, and the beasts 


CHOOSING A VOCATION. 


110 


will scamper — I shall always keep my rifle 
by me, Allen.” 

Allen smiled, but made no reply, for the 
party had now arrived at a little brown 
house, the entrance to which was familiar, 
and where they were sure to meet Allen’s 
sister, and Julia May, and may be other 
visitors, of the general favorite Lizzy Parker. 


CHAPTER X. 


LIZZY PARKER, AND HER FRIEND NANNIE. 

The white violet of early spring, blooming 
in the lowliest nook, is not more truly a child 
of nature, than was Lizzy Parker. She was 
a gentle and dependent creature, always 
needing support, and always finding it, car- 
rying peace and love whereever she went, and 
possessing a heart so full of sympathy, that 
even feelings too deep for her to appreciate, 
were soothed by it. Lizzy was an orphan 
girl, but she had never known an orphan’s 
loneliness, for the dear old grandmother, 
whose silvery hair she braided in the morn- 
ing, had, from infancy, knelt beside her pillow 
every night, to ask heaven’s blessing on the 
last, frail blossom, that lingered after all the 
hardier ones had been swept away. Favor- 
ite as Lizzy was among the children, it was 
not merely to see her, that they applied them- 
selves so industriously to their tasks, in order 


LIZZY AND NANNIE. 


121 


to spend a Saturday afternoon at Grandfather 
Parker’s. They used to love to gather 
around the old lady, as she sat with her knit- 
ting in the corner, and listen to her stories of 
the olden time, or make their mock tea-parties, 
and invite her to be a guest at the board, or 
when the boys were present, to follow the 
old man to his garden, and learn to play the 
hero, while he “ fought his battles over again.” 
There were many attractions to draw young 
hearts to Grandfather Parker’s, but it was 
happy age returning to its first childhood, 
with all the human feelings which have been 
garnered up during a long and blameless life, 
as fresh as when first awakened, and all the 
softened affections, which are the portion of 
those made better by bereavement, clustering 
around the gentle and pure of this world, 
that made this almost a paradise for little 
children. As Lizzy grew older, her visit- 
ors did not leave her, for although the good 
old grandparents became less necessary, 
they were not overlooked, and many were 
the muslin caps, or yam mittens, that found 
their way into the little ‘ square room,’ nobody 
but the donor knew how. Many a time, too, 


122 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


would dear old Grandmother Parker wonder 
‘what made people so good to her/ for she 
seldom leaned on Lizzy’s arm alone when 
walking, and never did a Sabbath pass, but 
some one of her wealthier neighbors called 
before the door, to drive the old people, and 
their pretty pet, to church. I do not say but 
the evident pleasure they gave Lizzy, might 
have had some share in winning such at- 
tentions ; but nobody that witnessed the 
old lady’s singleness of heart, simple piety, 
and universal love, could wonder why people 
were good to her. The little brown house, 
which Lizzy called home, was a model of 
simplicity and neatness, from the old side- 
board on which shone the row of polished 
pewter, down to the hearth-rug, wrought 
with many a quaint device, or the three- 
cornered pin-cushion, hanging below the very 
diminutive looking-glass. The two pictures, 
and yellow canvass sampler that adorned the 
walls, were stiff and old-fashioned, but Lizzv 
loved them, for the former were subjects of 
more vivid pictures in her mind, and the latter 
she had been told, was the work of her own 
mother in her girlhood. It was evident, that 


LIZZY AND NANNIE. 


123 


poverty had taken up its abode in the little 
mansion, but not want, for economy and order 
keep such a visitant at a distance, and bring 
that comfort to the poor, not always to be 
found where plenty reigns. Indeed, the old 
man’s pension was their all, but it^was enough ; 
so said the pious old lady, and so said the 
contented Lizzy, but Grandfather Parker, 
shook his head and sighed ; then laid his hand 
on Lizzy’s head, and begged God to take 
care of the poor lamb when he was gone. 
In such circumstances, it is not strange, 'that 
Lizzy felt a peculiar interest in little Nannie 
Green, and Mr. Moreton’s adopted child 
was allowed free intercourse with a family, 
whose every impression must needs be pure 
and refined. 

When they were all children together, it 
had always been a contested point among 
the boys, which had the best right to be 
Lizzy’s champion, break a path through the 
snow for her, or draw her on the hand-sled, 
but as they grew older, the right of attend- 
ance was gradually conceded to Allen Lucas, 
and, for more than a year before he left 
home, it was decided by all, save perhaps, 


124 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


the parties, or one of the parties most nearly 
concerned, that 4 the lamb ’ would be cared 
for. But Lizzy, at least, whatever might 
have crept into the brain of a dreaming boy, 
never looked beyond the happy present, and 
Liph Green, and his little fairy sister, and 
Mary Lucas, and Julia May, were usually 
with them, so that none but sharp-sighted old 
ladies, and anxious grandparents, would 
have seen anything more in their childish 
intimacy, than they did a few years previous.. 
True, Lizzy shed some tears when Allen 
went away to learn his trade, but this break- 
ing up of old associations, causes as’ many 
tears as ever were shed by parted lovers. 
About the time that Allen entered on his ap- 
prenticeship, Robert May commenced his 
collegiate course, but the loss of the latter at 
the .Corners was trifling, compared with the 
void that the absence of Allen Lucas made in 
every circle. Robert had lived for and with- 
in himself, but Allen’s first thought was 
always for others, he was social and sympa- 
thetic, and he found his reward in three-fold 
returns of all he gave, being ever sure of the 
good wishes of both old and young. 


LIZZY AND NANNIE. 


125 


Little Nannie was obliged to bear a double 
portion of the sorrow occasioned by these 
changes, for she parted with the kindest, and 
most faithful of tutors, and the most affec- 
tionate of brothers, at nearly the same time. 
Liph was a daring, enthusiastic fellow ; full 
of warm fancies, and susceptible of deep 
emotions, but lacking some of the weightier 
characteristics of manhood. The world to 
.him, was a wide field in which to revel all 
his life long, and his foot could slip most dex- 
terously along side the thorns, to tread on the 
-ever^blooming flowers. True, he was not a 
'man yet, and his character might undergo a 
revolution, and it was for this, that Mr. More- 
ton induced him to endeavor to shape out 
his own fortunes, hoping that self-dependence 
might give stability to hgj^character. Liph 
always looked on the surmy side of an enter- 
prise, talking of its accompanying pleasures, 
to the exclusion of everything less agreeable, 
and hence his steadiness and perseverance 
were very apt to be undervalued. Mr. 
Moreton, however, knew his capabilities, and 
did not hesitate to place him in a situation, 
which the people at the Corners thought quite 


126 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


too important, for one so trifling and way- 
ward. Perhaps the suspicion of a little 
secret, which Liph thought all his own, might 
have aided Mr. Moreton in forming his esti- 
mate of the boy’s character, for lie knew that 
there is nothing like the prospect of some far- 
off good, some star on which the whole 
future centres, to give singleness of purpose, 
and steadiness of action. And such a star 
had arisen, when, he could not remember, ii\ 
the heaven of Liph Green. Young as he 
was, and careless and volatile, there was one 
lesson which had sunken deeply into his heart, 
and the teacher of it was Lizzy Parker. He 
never walked beside her from the evening 
lecture, or grammar-school, never talked, 
with her when there was any one else t(? 
talk, and never showed his face at the cot- 
tage, save when ^ffirrounded by a bevy of. 
young misses, and ye.t he liked no eyes but 
blue, no ringlets but flaxen, and no face that 
did not resemble Lizzy Parker’s. Even his 
sister, beautiful as a little Hebe, suffered in 
his imagination, when compared with his 
model, for rosy cheeks though ever so full of 
bewitching dimples, and lips that could pout. 


Lizzy and nannie. 


127 


though constantly wreathed in smiles, which 
were as her breath to Nannie Green, and 
eyes, danced they ever so joyously, or shone 
they with ever so much soul, that could not 
boast * the heavenly blue,’ in his estimation, 
could lay no claim to beauty. And Lizzy — 
what thought she of Liph Green ? It is very 
possible, nay, very probable that she seldom 
thought of him at all, for there was not a boy 
in the neighborhood, that showed her so few 
attentions, or did not come oftener under her 
notice. True, she laughed heartily at his 
witticisms when she heard of them, and 
always agreed with Nannie, when she called 
him the best brother in the world, but Lizzy 
thought everybody all goodness, until she 
received proof positive to the contrary, and 
even then she consoled ^herself with the 
thought, that they “ meant nothing wrong.” 
She loved Nannie, because she was an orphan 
like herself, and the friendship was advan- 
tageous to both parties. Nannie had all the 
faults that accompany superior talents, and 
quick, intense feelings ; she possessed a proud 
consciousness of her own powers, firmness, 
and decision of character and a high spirit, 


128 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


the curbing of which occasioned her kind 
guardian much anxious solicitude. Yet, 
stubborn and self-willed as she was, Lizzy 
Parker could lead her whereever she listed, 
for gentleness always gains a power over 
such natures ; and, though several years 
younger, Nannie’s natural superiority was 
lost upon her meek and timid friend. Mr. 
Moreton spared no pains in extending every 
advantage within his reach, to his promising^ 
protege, and Nannie in her turn, dispensed 
her new acquirements, as far as in her power, 
to Lizzy Parker. The departure of Allen 
Lucas opened a new era in the life of Nannie 
Green, or as she was now called, Miss Anna 
Moreton, for he was succeeded by music, 
and drawing, and dancing, and language 
masters, and insteac^of sitting on Allen’s knee, 
she was obliged to play the young lady, and* 
sit bolt upright by the side of a tall, prim, 
governess. Our little heroine did not, how- 
ever, allow her accumulated duties to dampen 
her spirits ; she romped with the kitten in the 
winter, and chased the butterflies and birds 
in summer, and surprised her governess by 
loving her books as well as she did the free 


LIZZY AND NANNIE. 


129 


air, and the thousand attractions of the out- 
door world. Mr. Moreton too, was surprised 
at the depth as well as quickness of intellect 
which she exhibited, and he took the whole 
direction of her studies upon himself, and 
became her constant companion in her walks 
and rides. By this means, her physical 
education was not neglected, while her under- 
standing was cultivated to the utmost, her 
perceptions quickened by being trained to 
constant observation, and her principles 
carefully guarded against the encroachments 
of thoughtlessness, as well as the new theories 
so dangerous to inquiring minds. There was 
but one fault in Mr. Moreton’s system of 
education: domestic training, he thought a 
matter of no moment, and could not bear to 
see his little paragon busying herself in the 
kitchen, or pricking her pretty fingers with a 
needle. Nannie’s activity, however, made 
up in part for the deficiency, and after puz- 
zling her brain over her books, until she had 
won the usual applause, she would trip across 
the lawn to Grandfather Parker’s cottage, 
and sit down by Lizzy under the shady elm 
tree, to be initiated into the mysteries of back- 


ISO 


ALLEN LUCAS, 


stitch, cross-stitch, hem-stitch, and the thou- 
sand other stitches as familiar to Lizzy, as the 
ABC. At other times, she would try her hand 
at some simple cookery, and when Grand- 
mother Parker declared her gruel and toast 
quite as good as Lizzy’s, the pleasure that 
sparkled in her eye, was not a whit less ap- 
parent, than when she had effected the solu- 
tion of some difficult problem, or obtained the 
perfect control of her spirited jennet 


CHAPTER XI. 


THE SELECT SCHOOL. 

Shortly after the departure of Allen and 
Robert, there came a young lady to the Cor- 
ners, and proposed opening a select school, 
as a more fitting place for the education of 
young ladies, than the district school. Mary 
Lucas was delighted with the proposition, 
and used all her influence to further the plan, 
but this was an innovation for which, few 
were prepared, and it was accordingly dis- 
cussed morning and evening ; at the black- 
smith’s shop, in the hay-field, and at the corn- 
husking, till at last winter set in, and nothing 
had been done. Now the young ladies grew 
importunate, and the fathers were more puz- 
zled than ever. As a relief to their minds, a 
meeting was called, and the question ex- 
amined in all its bearings. Some thought it 
would injure the district school, others said 
that a knowledge of geography, grammar. 


132 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


and arithmetic, was quite enough for any 
girl, others talked of the impossibility of sus- 
taining twobschools in such a small neighbor- 
hood, while another class deprecated the 
niggardly spirit and contracted views of their 
opponents. The debate waxed warm, and 
the meeting was dismissed without coming 
to any decision. Those in favor of the new 
school, however, were determined to carry 
their point, and immediately started a sub- 
scription for that purpose. 

Mr. Moreton will be in favor of it, of 
course,” said Mr. May, “ he is a great friend 
to education, and he’ll sign a pretty round 
sum too, I’ll warrant me.” 

Mr. Lucas shook his head. *4 Mr. More- 
ton is a friend to education, but he is a 
thorough-going man, and won’t believe in 
this baby- work. You’d better not go to Mr. 
Moreton.” Mr. Lucas had voted for the 
school, but he was not at all backward in 
telling that it was “ only to please the 
women,” and his plain common sense had 
proved more powerful, than the arguments 
of all the others. Mr. May was suspicious 
that his neighbor might be right, but there 


THE SELECT SCHOOL. 


133 


could be no harm in asking, and accordingly 
he waited on Mr. Moreton, intending to give 
him the honor of heading the subscription 
paper. Mr. Moreton listened patiently to all 
the arguments in favor of a select school, and 
agreed to the propriety of establishing one. 
“ If a few families will unite, and obtain a 
first-rate teacher,” said he, “ I will not be 
backward m assisting.” 

“We have a teacher in view, that I think 
will give general satisfaction. Mary Lucas 
knows her well, and she says, she understands 
all the higher branches. The truth is, the 
girls are crazy after French — I don’t think 
much of this outlandish gibberish myself, but 
it’s well enough to please the girls — and paint- 
ing flowers, theorem-painting they call it, 
and working in worsted, and such-like trash - r 
and they never will be satisfied with any 
common teacher.” 

“ Um! a very common teacher, I should 
think,, would answer the purpose said Mr. 
Moreton, “ does the young lady you purpose 
obtaining, understand all these things ?” 

“ Yes; I have heard Julia talk about her 
lamp-mats, and cushion-covers, and other 


134 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


fineries, by the hour. I don’t pretend to know 
anything about these things myself, but girls 
will be girls, you know ; children will be 
children.” 

“ Yes, but that is no reason why men should 
make themselves children too. It is ours to 
suppress folly, Mr. May, not encourage it.” 

“ To be sure, but then I see no harm in 
indulging our girls a little ; other places have 
schools, and such girls as Abby Stillman, and 
Mary Lucas, and Lizzy Parker, ought to 
carry their heads as high as the Smithville 
misses.” 

“ Education never elevates an empty head, 
Mr. May, and I am proud to believe that our 
daughters have more practical knowledge 
and sound sense, and withal more general 
information, than many of their more showy 
neighbors. It becomes us now, however, to 
see that they do not retrograde. I am the 
last one to condemn real accomplishments, 
where they can be obtained without a sacri- 
fice of the more important branches of learn- 
ing ; but the less we have to do with these 
make-believe accomplishments, the better.” 

But sir, I thought Nannie — ” 


THB SELECT SCHOOL. 


135 


“ Nannie takes lessons of the best masters 
that can be found, and pursues the solid sci- 
ences at the same time, and I take particular 
care that she goes over no more ground than 
she investigates, that she is thoroughly ac- 
quainted with what she professes to under- 
stand.” 

“But I heard her saying the other day, 
that she wished she could remember all she 
had ever read — that people can never be 
thorough in anything — that they never under- 
stand so much of any subject, but there is 
more still to be learned.” 

“Nannie is a very little girl,” said Mr. 
Moreton, “ to make such sage remarks, but 
she was right. Our thoughts and concep- 
tions are limited, and when I speak of obtain- 
ing a thorough knowledge of a subject, I use 
the phrase as others use it, comparatively. 
Nannie’s great fault, since she was first able to 
spell out words, has been reading too exten- 
sively, to read what we call thoroughly ; but 
you will perceive that, young as she is, she has 
gone one step beyond the superficial scholar ; 
she is conscious of her own ignorance and 
impotence.” 


136 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


“We don’t expect to give our. children 
such an education as Nannie will have.” 

“ Then let me advise you to secure the 
really valuable part, and leave these super- 
ficial accomplishments to those, who are 
foolish enough to spend time and money in 
securing them. There can be nothing more 
disgusting than to hear young persons talking 
conceitedly of sciences with the first rudi- 
ments of which they are totally unacquaint- 
ed; and this is rendered still, more painful by 
the air which they are very apt to assume 
towards those they consider their inferiors.” 

“ Yes, yes,” said Mr. May, “ it was one of 
Robert’s favorite sayings, when he was home, 
4 a little learning is a dangerous thing,’ but are 
we to conclude from this, that people who can 
not know everything, must know nothing ?” 

“O no, I would have people constantly 
learning, the old as well as the young — you 
and I, as well as our children — but I would 
not have them catching the shadow of a 
thought here, believing, meanwhile, that they 
have the substance, and £he caricature of an 
accomplishment there, and after all their 
trouble, know less than the man who ha* 


THE SELECT SCHOOL. 187 

stood in the field all his life time, and learned 
only from his own observation. I would 
have them understand thoroughly what they 
attempt.” 

“ I hope that you don’t think; as ’Squire 
Smith does, that nothing is necessary but the 
common branches.” 

“I think everything is necessary, that can 
be obtained — everything I mean, calculated 
to make us wiser, or better, or happier ; 
everything that will elevate our characters, 
extend our influence, or improve our social 
qualities. This you will see, embraces a 
very large field, and one that can not be com- 
passed in a life time. But I would secure 
the nearest and most important first, and look 
to it, that we have all that we imagine our- 
selves to possess.” 

Mr. May shook his head. “ You might, 
perhaps, convince the girls, if they q^uld hear 
you talk, but I am sure nobody else can; 
they have got their “hearts set on this school, 
and I’m of* a mind that it would be best to 
gratify them for a few months. Julia says 
she can learn French in two quarters — don’t 
you think she can ?” 


138 


ALLEN LUCAS, 


“ If she has a phrase-book, she may learn 
to say * bon soir,’ and 4 comment vous portez- 
vous,’ in that time,” said Mr. Moreton, “ and 
very likely, rival her teacher.” 

44 Then you don’t approve of the school at 
all?” 

44 No, not of such a school. I have seen 
something of this worsted- work, and theorem- 
painting — neither require so much skill and 
talent as are necessary to make a shirt, and 
are about as improving to the taste, as mak- 
ing cloth rabbits, or counting a hundred 
all day. As for French and drawing, they 
are very necessary to an elegant education ; 
but I very much doubt the abilities of your 
proposed teacher, and I assure you, young 
ladies can have a very excellent education, 
without knowing anything of either.” 

44 What then would you advise us to do ?” 

“ If you think there are children and means 
enough here to support two schools, you had 
better obtain a first-rate teacher — not one 
who makes the greatest professions, but one 
who acknowledges with equal readiness, 
what she can and what she can not teach — 
and establish a permanent school. If, how- 


THE SELECT SCHOOL, 


130 


ever, this should prove too great a tax, and 
I am afraid it will, I will be the first to aid 
in establishing a young people’s library as a 
substitute. These select schools are increas- 
ing very fast of late, and I am glad to see 
people waking up to the subject of education, 
but at the same time, they should be looked 
to very carefully. We are in great dan- 
ger of encouraging superficial acquirements 
through these, by employing incompetent 
teachers. While we deprecate quackery in 
medicine, we should be careful not to allow 
quacks to prescribe for the intellect. The 
itinerating character of teachers, except in 
our highest schools, lays us open to imposition, 
and hence we should be doubly careful w r hom 
we employ. Individuals and states may do 
all in their power, and yet we never shall 
have good schools, until men study the pro- 
fession of teaching as they do that of law or 
medicine ; until a good teacher can obtain a 
situation that will be permanent, where he 
can know .that no successor will step in to 
undo what Jie has done well, or take the re- 
sponsibility of what he has done ill. Let a 
teacher remain, year after year, where he can 
h2 


140 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


watch each new development of the mind to 
which he gave its first impulse, and he will 
need no stronger incentive to exertion.” 

“ This would be difficult to bring about, in 
district schools. There are always some 
that are dissatisfied, and would be glad to 
get a new teacher, even before the winter is 
out ; besides, good teachers are in a hurry to 
get at some other business, and there isn’t one 
in fifty, that would be willing to stay two 
years in the same place.” 

“ And* scarce one in a hundred that is fit,” 
returned Mr. Moreton, “ but that one should 
be so well sustained, that he will not be in a 
hurry to get at other business ; think what 
would have been the result, if Mr. Dawson 
had staid here till this time.” 

“ I wish he had ; we might have kept him 
as well as not, for he always said, he meant 
to spend his days in a district school. There 
were two or three of us that did try our best 
to get him back again, but Mr. Leonard 
offered to come two dollars a month cheaper, 
and we had to give up. Do you think we 
are in any more danger of getting poor teach- 
ers in select, than in district schools ?” 


THE SELECT SCHOOL. 


141 


“ Yes, rather more. District school teach- 
ers have at least a form of examination to 
undergo, and trustees are responsible for the 
kind of teacher they engage ; besides, their 
professions are not so high, and they are 
therefore less likely to dazzle the ignorant. 
I would not, however, have you understand 
me to disapprove of private schools — good 
ones are of inestimable value, but they may 
be rendered very mischievous. Such an one 
as you propose establishing here, I am cer- 
tain, would encourage folly and vanity.” 

Mr. May turned away, perplexed. By 
“ gratifying the girls,” he might also gratify 
his own ambition, but he was now well 
convinced, that in pursuing the scheme, the 
money wasted, and time misspent, would not 
be the greatest evils. He communicated the 
substance of his conversation with Mr. More- 
ton to Mr. Lucas, and, as Mary was the 
prime mover in the affair, and Julia her 
second, it proved to be an easier matter to 
overthrow the plan, than the school-meeting 
men had imagined. A very small, but well 
selected library was soon after established, 
under the superintendence of Mr. Moreton ; 


142 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


this was afterwards increased until it be- 
came quite extensive and valuable. “ Have 
you read this book ?” or “ what do you think of 
that one ?” were questions oftener asked than, 
“ have you heard this ?” or “ seen that one’s 
new dress ?” and there was, especially among 
the young people, but very little gossip and 
slander at the Corners. 


CHAPTER XII. 


COMMONPLACE INCIDENTS. 

Allen Lucas, with his established char- 
acter and cultivated mind, formed a striking 
contrast to the apprentices with whom his . 
lot was cast, but he was too frank and cour- 
teous, too unaffectedly kind and generous, to 
become the mark for malice or envy. He 
never made them feel their inferiority, and by 
heartily seconding any scheme for amuse- 
ment which was right, and as honestly giv- 
ing his disapproval of what was wrong, he 
won their confidence, and gained over them 
almost unbounded influence. Although labor- 
ing hard from morning till night, his books 
were still the companions that he best loved," 
and he went on, improving slowly and surety^ 
as he had done, when the thought of Mr. 
Moreton’s library quickened his step, as he 
hurried homeward from the field. Yet there 
were many things to discourage him in his 


144 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


new employment, he found that the know- 
ledge he had gained from books, was of less 
use to him than he had supposed it would be, 
in the art as it is now practiced, and he could 
but see that his master often set both taste 
and convenience at defiance. Yet he did 
not repent ‘ goipg to learn a trade/ for he 
became an ardent lover of his craft, and at 
every visit he made the Corners, he left 
upon the little farm-house, still occupied by 
his father, some remembrancer, until there 
was an air of simple elegance thrown about 
it, quite foreign to the original structure. In 
truth, the Lucas family scarce appeared the 
same as formerly, for a refined intellect casts 
its sunlight upon all with, whom it comes in 
contact. Everything about the house, in 
spite of Mary’s high notions, was perfectly 
plain and simple, and yet afty one would have 
preferred the little parlor with its neat muslin 
/curtains and rag-carpet, to all the guady 
1 finery that decorated that of the wealthier 
proprietor of the corner farm, ’Squire Smith. 
These little matters make more in door sun- 
shine than anybody imagines ; indeed, the 
reciprocal influence of inward and outward 



COMMONPLACE INCIDENTS. 


145 


beauty would never be doubted, could every 
one take a peep at Mary’s little private libra- 
ry, and see how the beauty of the spirit was 
nurtured, and then how it expanded on the 
bright world without. Still Mary had 
her dreams of greatness, and her vanity 
peeped forth not seldom, but she had grown 
gentle and lovable, and withal, sensible and 
modest. 

Since Allen had decided on learning a 
trade, he had secretly cherished a plan for 
his two younger brothers, and indeed, his 
decision was influenced in no small degree, 
by this same generous plan. The assistance 
that he had refused from the family, he was 
resolved to give them, and he commenced 
the education of Richard and James, even 
before the term of his apprenticeship expired. 
His future intentions, however, were not made 
known to them, and their strongest induce- 
ment to study, beside love for the subject, 
was to accomplish this before Allen came 
home, or attempt that because Allen thought 
it useful. 

To all appearance, Robert May sailed 
smoothly along, and, maugre his reiterated 


146 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


complaints of the coldness and selfishness of 
the world, his letters to Allen were full of 
bright anticipations for the future. But Allen 
was not the only one who shared in these 
anticipations. To Mary, they came as golden 
links in the chain of every-day life — love and 
ambition both pointed to the same object, and 
much as she owed her brother, and much as 
she loved him, there was something very like 
contempt for him in her 'heart, when she 
compared his humbler aspirations with those 
of Robert May. It was Mary’s one fault — 
who has not more ? Ever since Mr. Daw- 
son came to the Corners, Mary had been the 
confidante of the shy student, and no plan for 
future aggrandizement could he suggest, but 
enlisted all her sympathies. In every airy 
castle builded by the imagination of Robert 
May, Mary took the deepest interest, twining 
all the flowers around it, and frequently put- 
ting on the top-most stone, till, how neither of 
them scarcely knew, their interests became 
identified, and before the young student had 
spent more than one vacation at the Corners, 
jests and smiles, and meaning glances met 
them at every turn, and they were, . as by 


COMMONPLACE INCIDENTS. 


147 


general consent, left to each other’s society. 
As to the young people themselves, the I and 
you were turned into we, and brighter than 
ever, danced hope’s gilded meteofs in their 
far-off future. To fit herself to become the 
wife of Robert May, was now Mary’s sole 
object, the one dream of her nights and days, 
and to this, everything was brought to con- 
tribute. Books and society, and the world of 
nature, were all laid under contribution ; if 
she went to the neighboring villages, it was 
to observe with an immediate view to her own 
improvement, if she read a book, it was to 
prepare herself for his companionship, and if 
she looked out upon a beautiful scene, her 
pleasure was heightened by the reflection 
that she could be pleased, and the evidence 
thus afforded of a taste refined, and worthy 
of him. Mary’s ambition was all turned into 
a new channel. The hopes that were 
cramped and shackled when self was their 
object, now found a limitless field, and, ex- 
panded on a second self, they became more 
refined, higher and holier. 

While Allen Lucas had become master of 
his craft, and by his daily toil, was assist- 


143 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


mg his brothers to a thorough education, 
and the rest of the family were economizing 
all in their power, to furnish Mary with a 
respectable dowry, Robert May was still 
bending over his books with a perseverance 
worthy of all honor, but with a heartless dis- 
regard for the sacrifices others were making 
for him, that could not be too much con- 
demned. 

Years dally not for pleasures or for pains, 
and at last, Robert May gained the point on 
which for eight long years, his eye had been 
fixed. Ere this, however, he had seen the 
kind indulgent father, who had toiled and 
sacrificed all for him, within his coffin ; his 
glad, gay sisters had become all unlike them- 
selves, and want, and sorrow and misery had 
taken up their abode in his once happy home. 
His mother, who had been an invalid for 
years, was now entirely dependent on his 
sisters, and he could do nothing for them. 
Worse still, Mr. May, who, until a father’s 
pride had made him a recreant to his princi- 
ples, had boasted that he owed no man a pen- 
ny, for two or three years past, had contract- 
ed debts, that swallowed up the value of the 


©OMMONPLAGB INCIDENTS. 


149 


little farm, and he had left his family entirely 
destitute of the means of subsistence, farther 
than their own hands could gain it. 

Robert bore his examination well, and was 
admitted to the bar, but when Allen Lucas, 
without waiting for the congregation to dis- 
perse, grasped his hand, the congratulatory 
words died upon his lips, for now that the 
fever of excitement was passed, what had 
that pale, anxious, care-worn face to do with 

j°y? 

“ I havn’t heard of any place for me, yet,” 
he said in 'reply to Allen’s looks ^rather than 
words, “ and I am tired to death, with hoping 
and being disappointed. I hear of a fine 
situation here, and when I think it almost 
secure, some puppy, J who has,Jmoney or 
influential relations, steps in before me, and 
takes it away.” 

“ You must be patient — •” Allen com- 
menced. 

“ Patient ! ay, be patient and starve ! you 
needn’t look at my thread-bare coat, Allen, 
I don’t care for that, and may be I shan’t 
change it these five years, but I can’t live on 


150 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


“ I have no doubt but you will gain a situa- 
tion, Robert, but you must not wear yourself 
out with anxiety ; talent will discover itself, 
and sooner or later, its possessor will be ap- 
preciated.” 

“ No, Allen, talent has little to do with mak- 
ing great men now-a-days. Money buys rank, 
and consideration, and respect ; but I am 
friendless and poor — ay, poor — without a 
single penny to keep me from starving. 
This day has been the very sun of my life. 
Fool ! how I have longed for it, and lived 
over and over again all its incidents and — no 
matter — only wait a little, and I will teach 
these gray-beards that I am not so insignifi- 
cant as they suppose.” 

“ Who ? what do you mean, Robert ?” 

“ Do you see that fair-haired fellow yon- 
der, he with the opera-glass ? There ! now 
he is quizzing us, the impudent puppy ! You 
heard his answers — do you believe I should 
have been admitted, if I had given them ?” 

“Would you change places with him, 
Robert?” 

“ No, no 1 but you see what it is to carry 


COMMONPLACE INCIDENTS. 


151 


one’s brains in the pocket, and how those 
venerable judges — ■” 

“ Come, come, Robert, you’re in a mur- 
derous humor to-night, and I’ll not hear 
another word. Mary has been waiting for 
us this half hour — ” 

“I can’t see Mary to-night — let her be 
happy if she can, my murderous humor would 
not make her more so.” 

u But her gay one will make you more so ; 
come, I shall carry you off, in spite of your- 
self,” and drawing the young misanthrope’s 
arm within his own, Allen hurried him away 
to the hotel, unheeding all remonstrances. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


DISAPPOINTMENTS THE PORTION OF ALL. 

“Just twenty-four !” said Allen Lucas, as 
the stage-coach whirled him towards his na- 
tive place, “ just twenty-four ! and how I 
have been prospered ! I have obtained my 
degree without studying a single day within 
college walls, and have put Dick and Jemmy 
in a fair way to rival me. They are fine lit- 
tle fellows, and not a penny expended on 
them will be thrown away. And now for 
Robert and Mary, poor things ! This forever 
looking on the dark side, is the bane of their 
life. I wish they were not quite so ambitious, 
and would be content to begin the world with 
the little we can give them. The few hun- 
dreds father has saved, is a fair portion for 
one whose first lesson was economy, and I 
can well afford to set them up in house- 
keeping — •” At the word house-keeping, 
Allen Lucas became suddenly thoughtful. 


DISAPPOINTMENTS. 


153 


It was evident that he was thinking of Robert 
and Mary no longer, for the disturbed look 
passed away, and a calm, quiet smile settled 
on his handsome features. “ I will see her 
to-night,” he at last said, starting up, and 
crushing his hat-crown against the top of the 
coach ; “ there is no use in waiting any long- 
er, for my business is prosperous far beyond 
my expectations, and she is not so aspiring 
as Mary. I have at last, put everything in 
the right train, and this is all that is wanting 
to make me happy.” The stage-coach near- 
ed the Corners, but Allen did not wait for it 
to draw up before his father’s door. He 
caught a glimpse of a white muslin dress by 
the river side, and in a few minutes, he stood 
within a stone’s throw of Lizzy Parker. 
Lizzy was not alone. A slender, graceful 
youth, with a face brimming over with^nirth- 
fulness, was bending one knee before her, and 
in a tone of mock gallantry, begging some fa- 
vor. If the stranger’s careless and somewhat 
outre costume, all corresponding with the 
green hunting-frock, had not called to Allen’s 
mind the returned Westerner, the face, the fig- 
ure, and the attitude, could not have been mis- 

i 


154 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


taken. Lizzy did not enact the queen very 
well, for she laughed confusedly, and finally, 
tearing off the velvet band that confined her 
luxuriant tresses, she threw it towards him, 
and retreated a few steps, laughing more 
heartily than before. The youth seized at 
once upon the treasure, at the same time 
leaving a hasty kiss upon the fair hand that 
granted it so ungraciously, and then busied 
himself "with knotting it around a wreath of 
flowers that lay upon the ground. “ That is 
for her head,” thought Allen, “ and she is 
evidently well pleased with the offering,” and 
he drew himself more within the shadow of 
the friendly elms. Allen waited until the 
fair violet was crowned with sister flowers, 
and, arm in arm, the youthful lovers, for such 
they evidently were, had disappeared among 
the trees, and then he turned away, and with 
a slow step, proceeded homeward. “ Yes, 
it is true,” he murmured, “ I am respected, 
but no one loves me, and I have toiled and 
toiled my life long for this — she cares more 
for his folly than — ” Allen paused. Words 
of bitterness were for the first time for years, 
hovering on his lips, but he did not speak 


DISAPPOINTMENTS. 


155 


them. “No, no,” he exclaimed with energy, 
“ I will not be unjust ; I love him too, as a 
brother I love Liph Green, and this shall not 
destroy our friendship.” 

Allen made no haste to reach home, for 
his mind was entirely occupied by another 
subject. He knew that his early friend had 
yet a touch of his former recklessness, but the 
goodness of his heart was unquestionable, 
and when he remembered his never-failing 
vivacity, the peculiar grace which character- 
ized his every word and action, the headlong 
impetuosity with which he would rush into 
danger, and sacrifice everything for the sake 
of his friends, together with his warm-hearted 
generosity, delicacy of feeling, and character- 
istic integrity, he did not wonder that he had 
stolen so successfully into the heart of Lizzy 
Parker. Liph Green, even when a boy, 
never did or said anything as other people 
would, and he possessed the art of winning 
the love of even those who most condemned 
his actions. He doubtless owed much of this 
power of fascination* to the dash of chivalry 
in his composition, and his unceasing flow of 
spirits ; but the warm fountain within, which 


156 


ALLEN LUCA3. 


gushed forth despite of coldness and unkind- 
ness on every human being, was the strong- 
est magnet to draw around him kindred 
hearts. 

“ Yes, Lizzy has done well,” Allen at last 
repeated, “ I ought not to wish it otherwise — 
they will doubtless be very, very happy.” 
He stood at ills father’s door. He placed 
his hand upon the latch, and then withdrew 
it — he could not bear to meet the happy 
faces within, for he had for the first time 
brought to those who loved him, a heavy 
heart. There w T as a rustle behind him, and 
immediately a light scarf was thrown over 
his eyes, a little hand all quivering with agi- 
tation grasped his wrist, and he was com- 
manded in a whisper to “ stand still and 
guess” He turned and caught in his arms, 
not Mary, but Nannie Green. 

“ How dare you ? —don’t kiss me ! — there, 
if you do again — I, — I tell you I am a young 
lady — almost fourteen, yes, almost — ‘sweet 
sixteen’ in two years, think of that.” 

“ Not fourteen these six months yet — don’t 
think to cheat me, Nannie ; why you would 
ba glad now to sit in my lap, and be rocked 


DISAPPOINTMENTS. 


157 


to sleep as you used to. Now don’t open 
those big eyes of yours, such airs are very 
unbecoming in a young lady, and these long 
curls — ” 

“ Ha, ha, how I should look with my hair 
strained up into a comb. I’ve got some news 
for you, Allen. Liph has come home, and 
he .is going to marry Lizzy Parker, and they 
will stay here as long as the old people live 
— I hope they will live forever ! Just think 
of a wedding — next week it will be, and you 
have come just in the nick of time — don’t be 
so fidgety about going in, there’s nobody at 
home, they’ve all gone to Smithville.” 

* So when I come back, lonely and tired,* 
I find the house empty, and my little pet 
metamorphosed — ” 

“ No, I will be a little girl to you, Allen, be- 
cause you played school-master to me once, 
and you really seem old and demure, but to 
nobody else I protest. Yes, now I think of 
it, Allen, you look very old, ten years older 
than when you were here last, and so sober ! ” 

“ I am not very happy, Nannie.” 

“ Not happy ! ” and every dimple fled from 
Nannie’s face, and her sparkling eye became 

i2 


158 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


soft and humid. “ Now don’t be frightened, 
my good little girl, I am not at all miserable, 
I assure you.” 

“ O don’t try to take it back — you are not 
very happy , — that is strange for you, Allen. 
Come, we will go into Mary’s parlor, and 
you shall tell me all about it.” 

“ I have nothing to tell, Nannie, I am only 
a little sad as men will sometimes be, you 
know, without cause.” 

“ Other men may be, but you are never sad 
without cause, Allen ; if I am a little girl, I 
know you too well to believe that. You 
wouldn’t make so good a school-master as 
•you did, when you told me how wicked it 
was to equivocate.” 

“ Perhaps not — we will let it pass now — ” 

“Yes, that is the best way, let it pass. 
You should have said, though, I am unhappy, 
Nannie, but I can not tell you why, and then 
I should have pitied you without asking a 
single question.” 

“Well, pity me, now; yours is the only 
pity I would have, but don’t say anything to 
Mary, of my dull spirits.” 


DISAPPOINTMENTS. 


159 


“ No, it would make her very unhappy. 
Brothers are not very often loved as you are, 
Allen.” 

The young man’s face brightened, and he 
murmured half unconsciously, “yes, I am 
loved — Mary shall at least be happy — l can 
give them all now.” 

“ Allen,” whispered Nannie Green, “ for- 
give me if I am officious, but I feel as though 
I had a right to say one word to you. You 
carried me in your arms from my mother’s 
grave, and I sobbed myself to sleep upon 
your shoulder. You encouraged Liph, when 
everybody cried out against him for his hor- 
ror of pauperism, and you have done more to- 
wards making him a man — don’t interrupt me, 
Allen, you know it is true, or if you don’t, 
everybody else does ; father speaks of it 
every day. What I owe to you — ” 

“ Excuse me, Nannie, you have said enough 
of these things.” 

“ Well, then, I have proved my right to be 
very impertinent.” 

“ Say what you please,” Allen began hesi- 
tatingly, for he felt sure that all this prelude 


160 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


could introduce but one subject, “ yet remem- 
ber that there are some things — ■” 

“ No, dear Allen, nothing that your little 
pupil, your pet, your sister can not say to 
you,” and Nannie clasped her little hands 
together, and lowered her voice. “ You are 
doing wrong, very, very wrong, to wear 
yourself out for those who will only ask more, 
those who will never thank you, and never 
give a thought to your weary limbs, and 
lonely heart. Robert May is a heartless, 
bad man — he don’t deserve Mary, though, if 
she will marry him, let her ; but, Allen, don’t 
kill yourself for them, don’t care for every- 
body but yourself, and then when your health 
is destroyed, and your hair grows gray with 
toil and sorrow — ” Nannie’s picture was a 
little too much for her, and again she sobbed 
herself to sleep on her old tutor’s shoulder. 
When she awoke, it was to find the other 
arm occupied by Mary, and the room made 
a very Babel, by the confusion of a multitude 
of voices. Her first glance was into Allen’s 
face, but the shadow had passed away, and 
the expression there was one of heart-felt 
happiness. “Yes,” said she, “it makes him 


DISAPPOINTMENTS. 


161 


happy to see others so ; he will kill himself 
for them.” 

At the first opportunity, Allen whispered, 
“ You guessed all wrong, but, Nannie, don’t 
try to guess again.” 

A proud flush overspread the child’s face, 
and she drew her hand from his. “ Guess, 
Allen ! how can you think me so mean ? I 
know it was not proper for me to say what I 
did, but I hate propriety when it interferes 
with better feelings. To <think I tried to 
guess ! You have changed, Allen, grown 
suspicious, and you don’t understand me.” 

“ I do understand you, my own darling pu- 
pil, I read that kind heart of yours like an 
open page, and you must not mind one 
thoughtless word ; I do understand you, and 
am grateful for the unselfish interest — now, 
do not stand back, biting your red lips, and 
playing the young lady to me. Nannie, 
Nannie, I am sad and lonely, my head aches, 
and my heart is weary — ” 

“I will be your own little girl again, and 
always, whatever you say to me. Put your 
head on the pillow, Allen, and dream of all 


162 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


the good you have done, and that will rest 
your heart.” 

“ Is that your own remedy, my sweet phy- 
sician ?” 

“O, I never need it — I shall always be 
happy, where you, and father, and Liph, and 
Lizzy are’.” 

“ There is such a mixture of the child 
and woman about her, “ thought Allen, as a 
moment after, Nannie was tumbling on the 
floor, in company with Mary’s kitten, “ that 
I believe she is half right in saying I don’t 
understand her. She startles me by her 
shrewdness, and yet she is as true and sim- 
ple-hearted as when she used to sit on my 
knee, and read baby-stories. I wonder 
where she picked up that notion about Rob- 
ert — he is ambitious, selfish it may be, but 
not heartless — no, not heartless — O if he 
should prove so ! ” Allen’s own disappoint- 
ment had made him distrustful, gloomy fore- 
bodings hovered over his mind, and it was 
with difficulty that he could bear his part in 
conversation. Early the next morning, he 
announced his intention of limiting his visit to 
one day, for he could not bear to meet the 


DISAPPOINTMENTS. 


163 


laces of those he loved best, and employment 
was better suited to his state of feeling than 
leisure. 

“ Then let us make the most of this short 
time,” said Mary, “ we will send for J ulia, 
and Nannie, and Lizzy — ” 

“ Let us spend it by ourselves, dear Mary.” 

“Why, how strange you have grown, 
Allen ; for Robert, it would be nothing un- 
usual, but you are so fond of company.” 

“ My mother and sister are the best com- 
pany in the world within doors, and it will 
take me a great while to go over the farm 
and see what has been done, and hear what 
is going to be done.” 

“ But, unless you have serious objections, 
Allen, I should like to make a small tea party, 
it would please our friends, you know.” 

“ Do as you please, Mary, but lest I have 
no opportunity to see you alone, here is a 
trifle which I wish you to use in any way 
you think proper. I will also add something 
to your little — ” 

“Allen, brother, this is too much — keep 
your own hard earnings to yourself— I will 
not rob the whole family for my benefit.” 


164 


ALLEN LUCAS, 


“ I do not need it, Mary— no one has been 
robbed for you, it is all a free-will offering,” 

“This more than compensates,” thought 
Allen, as he felt his sister’s heart throbbing 
against his own, “ they must be happy.” 

Allen went out to view the farm, and Mary 
sat down to write to her lover. A few 
months only had passed, since Robert had 
received his diploma, but to the impatient 
young barrister, they were ages. He was a 
thorough student, and a fine pleader, but he 
lacked those more shining qualities, the tact 
and insinuating address, which win at once 
the favor of the public, and he had not as yet, 
been favored with business. “Be patient, 
stay where you are best known, and in time, 
you will be appreciated,” was Allen’s advice 
to him. But Robert May could not be pa- 
tient, he had toiled long enough, and it w r as 
time he reaped some reward. This was the 
burden of his letters to Mary, and hers were 
full of encouragement and hope. Now her 
heart was light indeed, for she had good news 
to communicate, and her little hand quivered 
like a bird as it glided rapidly over the paper. 


DISAPPOINTMENTS. 


165 


“ How excited you are, Mary,” said Allen, 
who had entered unperceived, and stood by 
while she made two or three unsuccessful 
attempts to seal the letter. 

“ If you knew how much trouble he has 
had, and how this will relieve his mind, you 
wouldn’t wonder that I am so happy. He 
will get it to-morrow evening. How I wish 
Jim was back.” 

“ He has come — what will you give me — ” 
and Allen held a letter far above his head. 

“ O, I was sure it would come to-day — it 
has been so long — give it me .! do, dear Allen, 
quick. May be there is something ir^ it I 
ought to answer.” 

“A true lover’s letter,” said Allen as he 
saw the sheet unfolded, “ no, nothing on the 
margin ; I thought that was the place for 
sweet things. Good heavens, Mary ! look at 
this paper ! Robert May married to Isabel 
' B. ! What does it mean ? It must be a false 
report ! What says the letter?” 

Mary did not move a muscle ; her face 
grew pale as she read, but she stood proudly 
and firmly until she had finished the last line.- 
* The announcement in the paper was only too 


1 ( 5(5 


ALLEN LUCA3. 


true. Isabel B. was the daughter of a certain 
Judge of high standing and extended influ- 
ence, but she was an ignorant, narrow-minded 
woman, whose peculiarities Robert had often 
ridiculed, and whose weakness he despised. 
The young barrister was capable of appreci- 
ating a character like that of Mary Lucas, he 
loved her better than any one but himself, 
and it required a strong effort to pen the 
words of separation. Yet his ruling principle 
must be gratified, influential friends he must 
have to give him consequence, and he chose 
rather to be the son-in-law of Judge B., than 
the husband of Mary Lucas. “We both 
have talents,” said his letter, “ and that is all 
— we are both ambitious, but together our 
ambition can not be gratified ; it is better for 
both that we part and form some other 
connection, that at least one of our young 
dreams may be realized. I know your pride 
is equal to my own, and your aspirations are 
as high, and so you will be able to appreciate 
my motives, though Allen and others may 
blame me for what I have done.” Mary 
crushed the letter beneath her feet, and thank- 
ed Heaven that he had made himself known 


DISAPPOINTMENTS. 


167 


before it was too late. But the next day the 
red spot had faded from her cheek, and the 
fire in her eye was dim. Well was it for 
Mary that her brother was by to sympathize 
with and soothe her. 

“ You must never leave me now, Allen,” 
she said, and the young architect at once 
concluded to make his father’s house his 
home, where if his business, which might 
extend into the neighboring villages, was not 
quite so profitable, he could at least have the 
satisfaction of making himself useful. There 
are some persons whose especial office it 
seems to be to soothe the afflicted, and remove 
the difficulties that beset the pathway of life, 
and one of these was Allen Lucas. The May’s 
in particular owed many little kindnesses both 
of word and deed to his care, for Robert was 
out in the busy world winning golden opinions 
from the multitude, and he had but little time 
to bestow on a worn-out mother, peevish and 
garrulous from long sickness, and sisters 
whose minds were uncultivated, and whose 
gay spirits had been bowed to the very earth 
with trouble. 


168 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


“ If we had more to give him, he would 
not neglect us so,” Julia often said, and Allen 
Lucas had reason to believe it was true. 
Robert May received empty honors from 
men who cared not whether he rose or fell, 
and was unloved even by the wife of his 
bosom, while Allen Lucas was respected by 
all his acquaintances, loved by a large circle 
of friends, and almost idolized by those who 
knew him intimately. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


A SCENE AT THE CAPITAL. 

It was on a fine, clear morning, during 
the winter session of Congress, that a party 
of travelers, somewhat striking in their ap- 
pearance, and yet entirely free from ostenta- 
tion, drew up before the door of one of the 
principal hotels, in the city of Washington. 
The gentleman, a fine, intellectual-looking 
man, in the summer of his days, appeared a 
comfort-seeker of the better order, for all his 
arrangements were made with a view to 
ease and convenience, and there was some- 
thing so simple and unpretending about the 
whole party, as to prove them quite above 
the necessity of pretense. He was accom- 
panied by two ladies, the elder of whom mir- 
rored his own features in her face, softened 
and subdued by a pensive, thoughtful expres- 
sion, that stole from the depths of her large, 
dark eyes, and lingered in a sad, loving smile 


170 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


around a mouth remarkable for nothing but 
the exquisite beauty of that strange, sweet 
smile. This lady had evidently seen more 
than thirty summers, for the smoothness of 
her cheek, and roundness of her form, had in 
a measure disappeared, though she still pre- 
served as much freshness and bloom, as is 
the lot of American women of that age ; her 
bearing was graceful and dignified, and in 
all respects she had probably never been so 
interesting or even so beautiful, as at this 
period, when the flowers of her spring-time 
lay withering on her brow. If the soul had 
been wanting, the mechanism of the face 
might have served as a foil to many of the 
gay belles constantly passing and re-passing, 
but there was an angel in that face, and its 
charm was unrivaled. The other lady was 
several years younger, in the very heyday of 
life and bloom, the glory and pride of beauti- 
ful womanhood. Care had never laid its 
cankering finger on her heart, and if she had 
ever looked on sorrow, it was in days long 
agone, when every impression is like letters 
traced on sand. Her step was stately, and 
even proud, as she passed along the line of 


SCENE AT THE CAPITAL. 


171 


gazers that seem as necessary to the piazza 
of a hotel, as the columns that support it ; 
but once within the door of a private parlor, 
and her manner assumed the playfulness of 
childhood. 

“ And so this is the far-famed W ashington,” 
she exclaimed with affected pettishness, as 
she flung herself on a sofa, “ the head-quarters 
of that great nation of which we were so 
proud only a little while ago ; I declare, it 
looks like a Swiss village.” 

“A fair challenge, Nannie,” said the gen- 
tleman, laughing, “ but an entire failure, not- 
withstanding. Not a word will I say, even 
for Washington, until I have had some din- 
ner.” 

“ Then patience help me,” exclaimed the 
lively lady, throwing off her traveling hat, 
and in the act, unloosing a comb, that sent 
an immense volume of hair curling in wavy 
lines, and floating almost to her feet, “ for if 
I should die of ennui among these scattered 
hamlets, not a word of sympathy should I 
get from Mary.” 

“ Your impatience comes too late,” said the 
elder lady, with a smile. “ When we were 


172 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


in a real hamlet, and completely drenched 
with rain, you did nothing but laugh.” 

“ 0 that was so ludicrous ; I laugh every 
time I think how we all crawled under one 
umbrella, like a parcel of scared chickens, 
and how that square-shouldered Englishman 
with the red bandanna, fumed and fretted.” 

“ There was nothing ludicrous, however, 
about the dark den that we stumbled into the 
first night we spent in Florence, and yet you 
did not complain, but kept up your courage 
and spirits bravely.” 

“ Ah ! that was the certainty of being in 
Florence, Italy. Who would think of com- 
plaining in that cradle of the Muses ?” 

“ And who would think of complaining in 
this cradle of Liberty?” echoed the gentleman. 

“Conclusive!” said the lady, “I am of 
course convinced, but somehow, you have 
said a word for Washington, even before 
dinner.” 

“ A more heartfelt word, notwithstanding 
its playfulness,” said the elder lady, “ than 
some of those self-styled patriots, that come 
here to give us laws, would pronounce, I 
have no doubt.” 


SCENE AT THE CAPITAL. 


173 


“ Self-styled, Mary ! ” was the earnest re- 
ply, “ if not to them, where shall we look for 
patriotism ? they are elected by free men, 
and stand up before the nations of the earth, 
to give wholesome laws to a free people. 
World-styled patriots, you might with more 
propriety call them.” 

“ I believe politicians generally,” remarked 
her companion, “ use patriotism as a varnish 
merely, to gloss over and give smoothness to 
their schemes — there is but very little of it 
in the original composition.” 

“ One too severe, a very little prejudiced, I 
should imagine, and the other too enthusias- 
tic,” said the gentleman. “ Bad men climb 
to power, and good men are elevated to it. 
The frailties and virtues of human nature 
mingle in the hall of legislation, as they do 
everywhere else, but while the nation is in- 
telligent and moral, virtue must predomi- 
nate.” 

“ I plead guilty to prejudice,” said the elder 
lady, “ though I believe I have no very un- 
reasonable share of it. Did you recognize 
the apparition that I pointed out to you, as 
we passed this morning V* 


174 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


“ That old man on the side-walk ?” 
u He is not a month older than you, Allen.’* 

“ You must have been mistaken, Mary, 
that man was sixty years old.” 

“ It was Robert May.” 

“ Nonsense ! why, he was as crooked as 
Grandfather Parker. Robert May is a mem- 
ber of the lower House, however, and if you 
have no objections, I should like to see him 
once more — in public, I mean ; of course, we 
should not seek his acquaintance.” 

“ I am certain that I was not mistaken, 
Allen, though I can not tell how I recognized 
him, every trace of our quondam friend has 
disappeared. I should be very glad to look at. 
him once more 'too, for although I think I 
am completely cured of undue ambition, I 
should like to see the lesson written out full 
and plain, as I know it will be on his face.” 

Before this time, our little party has proba- , 
bly been recognized, and we have but a word 
to say in explanation. Allen Lucas had re- 
mained a bachelor until he was more than 
thirty years of age, and by industry and 
economy, he had amassed a little fortune. 
It had early been his intention to visit foreign 


SCENE AT THE CAPITAL- 


175 


countries, for the sake of improvement in his 
art, but now that he had the wherewithal to 
put his scheme into execution, his considera- 
tion for others, stood directly in the way of 
its accomplishment. Since the day that his 
sister had thrown herself on his sympathies, 
she had been his constant companion, and it 
seemed selfish to divide their sources of en- 
joyment now. Then there was another, Al- 
len would fain have associated with her, for 
his betrothed bride was the orphan, Nannie 
Green, and there was almost a fatherly care 
mingling with his love for her, some like that 
h6 felt when he first led her to Mr. Moreton’s 
door. To include these two in his plans, he 
must defer the execution of them yet several 
years, and the more he thought of it, the more 
difficult it seemed to leave them. The 
thought of Nannie Green’s bringing a fortune 
with her, had never occurred to him, for in 
spite of the great change in her circumstan- 
ces, she had always been to him the helpless 
orphan, deserving of all care and sympathy. 
He still toiled on, success attending his ef- 
forts, and when he wedded, instead of the 
little beggar girl ; $VIiss Anna Moreton, the 

p ^ 


176 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


heiress, the aspect of his affairs was so chan- 
ged, that his contemplated excursion was 
merged in a bridal trip to England, and the 
tour of the continent. Allen’s devotion to his 
art, led him to examine every foreign struc- 
ture of note attentively, and he had returned 
richly laden with information that would be 
invaluable to him in after years. 

“ That is he,” whispered Mary Lucas to 
her sister, as they looked from the gallery of 
the House of Representatives, upon the 
venerable men of whom that body is mostly 
composed. 

“ Not that,” said Nannie, “ you must be 
mistaken.” 

Mary shook her head. “Look at those 
thin, closely-pressed lips, Nannie, and those 
small, black, hard-looking eyes — even in his 
best days I was afraid of them — and then, 
that wavering, undecided motion of the hand 
— he is the caricature of his former self, but 
don’t you recognize him now, Nannie ?” 

“ It may be — ye — s — yes ! now I do ! his 
little eyes glitter, and he gives the chair just 
such a look as I have seen Liph get from 
him, many a time.” 


SCENE AT THE CAPITAL. 


177 


It was -mot strange, that Nannie found so 
much difficulty in recognizing Robert May, 
for he was indeed, as Mary said, “ the carica- 
ture of his former self.” His hair was griz- 
zled by premature age, his eyes had sunken 
deeply into the shadow of his projecting eye- 
brows, his cheeks were hollow and bloodless, 
and his bended form, and yellow, shriveled 
hand, could not have been considered the 
property of youth, or even of middle age. 
But superadded to this, were forbidding exhi- 
bitions of the enclosed spirit, that had made 
this wreck of its fair casket. Sometimes he 
assumed a listless air, and a vacant expres- 
sion took possession of his countenance, but 
this was usually transient, and gave place to 
a care-worn, anxious manner, like one har- 
assed with difficulties, and wearied by disap- 
pointments. Again, his look was eager, 
greedy and malignant, his eye rolled from 
side to side with the rapidity of hurried 
thought, and his teeth were buried in the 
flesh of his nether lip ; then, in a moment his 
chin would be resting on his bosom, his eye- 
lids would droop, his eye peep out aslant, his 
finger creep along the tabic before him, and 


178 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


the low cunning and petty malice of the fox, 
appear written on every feature. 

“Oh he must be a terrible man ! ” said Nan- 
nie, with a shiver, as she clasped both hands 
around Mary’s wrist. 

“ No,” was the quiet reply, “ he is a selfish- 
ly ambitious man. He is disgusted with his 
success, and maddened by every obstacle — 
he would change our form of government 
into an absolute monarchy if he could, and 
seat himself on the throne ; but when there, 
he would be more dissatisfied than he is now. 
Self, is the centre and circumference of his 
desires, and they will gnaw deeper and deep- 
er, until they have eaten the very life from 
out his heart.” 

“ How different from Allen ! he has no 
time to be selfish, for every minute is em- 
ployed in thinking of somebody else. Don’t 
you remember how he spent one whole night, 
laying plans for the beggars at Rome, and 
how the old; monk laughed at his enthusi- 
asm ?” 

“ Yes, but he afterwards acknowledged, if 
there were half a dozen men like Allen, in the 


SCENE AT THE CAPITAL. 


179 


city, his plans might be carried into execu- 
tion.” 

“ Allen never waits to inquire who is in dis- 
tress, but whereever the distress is, whether 
in foreign lands or his own neighborhood, 
there go his heart, and head, and hand. The 
millionaire, who doles out his round dollars 
ever so generously while he lives, and leaves 
the aggregate of his wealth to charity at his 
death, can seldom accomplish as much good, 
as Allen will in his life time, for his whole 
soul is in what he does, and his advice is 
often worth more than his money. We 
shall never be rich, in gold and lands I mean, 
but O if I can, by closely imitating him, lay 
up as much treasure in heaven as he has al- 
ready accumulated there, I can ask no more.” 

Mary smiled a reply, and clasped more 
closely the hand of the young wife, but now 
the confusion that had enabled them to hold 
this little dialogue had passed away, and 
Robert May was the next speaker. He was 
eloquent and subtle, and he wove a web of 
sophistry, that it required all the skill of Allen 
Lucas, as he gazed intently from his stand 
in the gentleman’s gallery, to unravel. 


180 


ALLEN LUCAS. 


“ That man’s mother and sisters, were left 
to receive a burial at the hands of charity,” 
whispered Allen in his sister’s ear, as they 
passed from the House, “ and but for our dear 
Nannie’s kindness in encouraging, and good 
sense in advising, his only remaining sister 
would have been irretrievably lost. I have 
always wondered at Nannie’s energetic in- 
terference on that occasion, and at her prac- 
tical wisdom in giving the poor girl a trade.” 

“ 4 Her husband also, and he praiseth her,’ ” 
said Mary Lucas, aloud, while a look of 
pleased affection beamed from her eyes, “ the 
world has no higher happiness ' for me than 
this.” 

“Nor for me,” said Allen, as he dropped 
some coin into the extended palm of a blind 
beggar. 

“ Nor for me,” echoed Nannie, looking into 
her husband’s face. 

The crowd jostled them, and the rich and 
the poor, the wise and the ignorant, passed by 
them in quick succession, all unconscious 
that there were individuals in their midst, 
who bore in their hearts a heaven, made by 
the union of benevolence and contentment. 












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